


Slow Hands

by larryisrealbro



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Gay Louis, Harry writes reviews, M/M, Stan and Louis are comedians, Straight Harry
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-12
Updated: 2017-09-24
Packaged: 2018-10-31 01:37:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 24
Words: 64,799
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10889073
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/larryisrealbro/pseuds/larryisrealbro
Summary: Glancing down the bar, there’s another boy there, who seems to look away from him quickly, just as Harry looks over. There’s a suggestion of a smile, maybe, in the shadow of the boy’s face, and great, Harry thinks. Someone caught him looking like he’s ordered a drink that he hates, and even though that is the long and short of it, essentially, Harry sure as hell doesn’t want to broadcast that fact./An AU, based on the prompt ‘Harry thinks he is straight, until he meets Louis, who is gay.’SFW. And, of course, this is all lies.





	1. Chapter 1

It’s getting dark.

In fact, it is dark. It was  _ getting _ dark about an hour ago, the last time that Harry looked out of the window. Now it is just the lights of the opposite tower block breaking up the blackness outside Harry’s office window. Where other automatons stare at screens all day. Cut adrift in a sea of uniform mediocrity.

Blinking rapidly, Harry saves the document, and clicks off his monitor screen, recognizing that when his thought process turns into something that sounds like a poor pastiche of a Margaret Atwood novel, it is probably time to go home.

Sighing, he picks up his satchel from underneath his desk, and double checks that he has his door keys, because one time last week he managed to get all the way to his shared apartment in Brooklyn, only to discover that he’d left the keys in his desk drawer. And, after knocking for about ten minutes, it turned out none of his housemates were in, or answering their phones, and so Harry had retraced his forty five minute journey to the office, to pick up the keys.

That had not been a good day.

He waves at a couple of co-workers on the way to the elevator, but most people have gone home by now, because it is six thirty on a miserable February evening, why wouldn’t people have gone home?

The elevator takes him eleven floors down, and then it is the New York chill, bitter and clinging to his bones.

…

The subway rush has eased slightly, but it is still three stops before Harry manages to sit down, on a seat just vacated by someone who looked like they’d had the sort of day Harry had; mind numbing and achingly repetitive.

Harry checks his phone for human contact.

Nothing.

It is the post holiday lull, of course. He’d met up with friends, and had good time over the festive season, in both San Francisco, for a week, and then another two days in Brooklyn, hanging out with acquaintances that he thinks he could be friends with, if he tried, and chatting and generally not having to think about work much.

It’s just, now…

Everything seems to be moving slowly. As though Harry is pushing against a wall of time that is only incrementally giving into his wishes, as he slowly spends all his energy on it. And he’s felt like this for  _ months. _

And the worst thing is that Harry doesn’t even know what he is pushing towards. What he is pushing  _ for. _

…

The apartment smells empty, somehow. Someone has just left though, probably for a night out being glamorous, somewhere- the bathroom door is wide open and Harry can see the footprints on the mat where someone exited the shower.

It was probably Zayn. Or maybe Liam. Harry doesn’t know. He lives with three interchangeable roommates, all of whom seem to just be scraping a living in the city, working as baristas and runners and god knows what. They don’t have a career,  _ obviously.  _ They’re just killing time until fame comes swooping down for them, and carries them off to stardom that everyone deserves.

Harry grunts at himself quietly, because  _ wow _ , tired Harry equals bitter, grumpy Harry, it would seem.

He needs some food in his stomach, a bath to wash the commute off, and some sleep. In that order.

…

The soup that he heats for himself improves his mood marginally, and then the bath does actually help, eases some of the ache from his back and makes him feel like a human again.

He’s wrapped in his robe, idly trying to focus on the episode of Dexter that is playing on his laptop, when the notification pops up in corner, that someone is trying to skype with him. Harry leans forward, checking to see who it is, and checking to see if he has the mental energy for it.

It’s Niall. Harry smiles for a second, and then presses connect, leaning back into the couch and resting the laptop on his knees.

“Hey Ni.”

The camera flickers on, and Niall waves at him, having clearly just taken an enormous bite out of his sub sandwich. Harry laughs, and then sighs, affecting exasperation.

“God Niall, if you are trying to contact me, you could at least make sure you are capable of communication when I answer.”

Niall rolls his eyes, and then chews a bit more, before swallowing.

“Whatever, it’s a subway, for god’s sake. I’m hardly going to not eat it, on the off-chance that you are feeling like communicating with me, little mr social recluse.”

Harry shrugs, because, yup, maybe, and pushes a hand through still damp hair.

“How was your day?”

Niall grunts, and seems to suddenly get very interested in picking apart his sandwich.

“I think there’s a rogue onion in here, I’m sure that bitch recognizes me and does it on purpose, now… it was okay. You know. Doing stuff.”

Niall is doing more than stuff, really, he’s been a production assistant for MTV for the past six months or so, and Harry knows from their previous conversations that he is hoping to move to in front of the camera soon, that his boss adores him. However, that clearly isn’t what he wants to talk about, and so Harry doesn’t push. Niall peers at him after a second.

“How’s your career? Still impressive and high-flying?”

Harry flips him off, because no matter how many times he tells him not to, Niall always insists on behaving as though Harry is somehow being a huge success, in New York. As though proof-reading is the greatest height to which anyone could aspire.

“Whatever. Repetitive and monotonous, more like.”

“Oh Harry, if our teachers could see you now…”

…

He’d always wanted a job that was steady, and kept him out of debt, and made sure that he always had warmth and shelter and food.

And when he’d developed an obsession with manga, early in high school, his teachers had encouraged him to pursue it, because foreign languages came easily, for whatever reason.

And ten years later, here he is. Degree, steady job, food on the table, place to live in New York, and a boss that doesn’t seem about to fire him.

Living the  _ goddamn  _ dream.

…

They’re both too tired to talk much, it transpires, Niall had called only to check _ that you weren’t dead, to be honest. _

Harry’s grateful for his company, in this city; a small, immaculately dressed piece of home. He knows him well enough to be up-beat when he’s up-beat, and down-beat when he’s down-beat, because sometimes bad moods are there for a reason, you know? They help process things.

Harry doesn’t know what he is processing, but his head feels full, of thoughts that he can’t fully see, as though they just melt away when he tries to focus on them.

The final exchange that they have is about Harry’s possible career switch, the one that he worries he is never actually going to do.

“Just… get on with it Harry, for the love of god. Stop boring me with it. You’ve studied journalism, and it is hardly as if you can’t write. Review something, or a show, or whatever, and then I can show it to people, if you want, they’re always looking for contributors to the website. Stop talking and start doing, the procrastination is killing me.”

They sign off, very soon after that, because Harry is out of excuses that Niall hasn’t heard before. Now he is just avoiding it because he is worried that it will turn out that he doesn’t have what it takes to be a successful journalist, and  _ then  _ what will he do?

…

He sleeps poorly.

He always does, really. It’s a habit he picked up when he returned from Japan, and never really kicked it.

Maybe he should go back to Japan. Maybe that’s the answer.

…

He doesn’t, of course.

Instead Harry spends another week, dragging himself out of bed in the morning, sitting at his office chair for ten hours, chipping away at a mountain of words, and then dragging himself home again.

It’s a good job. It’s a secure job. The economy is crashing around their ears, people are losing their homes, and Harry has a job. A good job. The sort of job that people have to respect, and raise their eyebrows at, because they don’t know what else to ask about it, because nobody really knows what else there could be to say, about being a proof-reader.

A good job.

A dull as fuck job, but a good job, regardless.

…

Harry spends a lunch break with Eleanor, one day, because he can’t just spend his working life staring at three cubicle walls, he has to try and make  _ some  _ social links. They leave the building, and grab a sandwich in a deli just around the block.

Eleanor has just gotten engaged. Harry hears a great deal about the various merits of a winter wedding, verses a spring one, and valiantly tries to stay afloat in the conversation, contributing when he feels capable, like a struggling swimmer gasping for breath in a river too powerful for comfort.

Eleanor seems to remember that Harry is there, five minutes before they have to head back up to the office.

“Anyone in your life, at the moment? New York can be lonely, if you don’t have someone?”

Harry shrugs.

“No, no-one. I’m not really looking though; girlfriends can be more effort than they’re worth.”

The announcement earns Harry a bit of a strange look, but then he remembers that Eleanor  _ has just gotten engaged _ , and thus pissing all over the concept of romance probably isn’t welcomed, right now.

…

The question irritates him for the rest of the day, and throughout the commute home. Because he isn’t looking a relationship, has never really seen the point of them, just another person to worry about and try to accommodate.

And now, increasingly, as he gets older, people look at him as if he is failing, just because he isn’t actively hunting down his one true love. It’s ridiculous. What even is  _ love _ , anyway, apart from some stupid concept dreamt up to sell more cards on Valentines Day? All relationships are, at the end of the day, is two people saying to one another,  _ well, you don’t annoy me too much, want to help me keep warm at night and maybe procreate so that my mother stops hassling me about when she is getting grandkids? _

…

He messages Niall that night.

_ I’m in the worst mood ever – send immediate help. _

Harry stares at his phone for a minute, as though expecting it to turn into a small puppy, for his own entertainment, and then walks away, into the kitchen. Liam’s in there.

“Hey Harry… there’s a utilities come through. I pinned it up on the fridge for you.”

Harry doesn’t know why, despite him only being there for two months, it is somehow his responsibility to get the bills paid, and the money from the others goes into his account, but this isn’t the time, and so just raises his eyebrows in recognition, and reaches past, hunting in the fridge for leftovers of last night’s takeout. Liam clears his throat after a second.

“So, me and the others are going for a drink, this Friday night, if you are interested? Collective night out?”

Harry almost says no, such is the level of his downer, but catches himself just in time, because  _ what the fuck is wrong with you, Harry? Get it together. _

“Oh, yeah, um, that sounds fun; I’ll have to check though. But, cool. Umm. So, how was your day?”

…

He manages about an hour of polite small talk, and it isn’t as though he hates Liam, far from it. Harry just doesn’t understand Liam, doesn’t understand the jokes or the values or the anything of it, really. The words flow easily enough, but the connection isn’t there, the fun is forced.

Harry does watch half an hour of a Real Housewives episode with Liam though, before realizing that there was literally nothing there for him, and claiming a phone call date with a friend, just to get out of the room.

There’s a message from Niall.

_ Hey grumps, seriously, if you are in a bad mood, I have the perfect solution. I’ll send you a link – check your inbox. _

Harry squints at his message for a second, and then opens up his laptop, listening to it whine as it warms up, while he gets into his bed, sitting cross legged on his mattress, with the comforter pulled up around him.

There’s a new mail waiting for him, and Harry clicks on the title, which is simply  _ I LAUGHED SO HARD I ALMOST THREW UP. _

_ Hey Haz, _

_ So, thank every one of your entire constellation of lucky stars, because I have decided what you are going to review for your first adventure into journalism. _

_ It was supposed to be a first date, and the girl (Sophia – remember? The one with the hair?) was cute enough and whatever, but I seriously couldn’t focus on her for a second because I was too busy trying not to pass out from a lack of oxygen, because of how goddamn hard I was laughing. _

_ He’s called Stan Lucas. It’s just a student thing, at a crappy theatre for the next two nights – I’ll give you directions if you’re interested. But this Stan guy is headlining it, and I swear to god if I have not figured out how to be best friends with him by this time next year then I have missed my one true calling in life. _

_ So I figured; you should go. And laugh really hard, and take a little notebook, and let’s see if we can get this journalism show on the road, huh? _

_ (I’d go with you, but I figured you’d actually want to hear the jokes, rather than just having to listen to me screaming and throwing my pants at the stage.) _

_ ((Seriously Harry. Go. Be pro-active about your funk, for god’s sake.)) _

There’s a bunch of links at the bottom, which on investigation turn out to be links to a theatre, and a website that is for Stan Lucas, which mainly features just pictures of a boy that Harry presumes is Stan, crossing his eyes in pretty spectacular fashion.

Harry worries at the corner of his thumb, as he scrolls down, biting at the nail absent-mindedly.

He’s got a notepad, in his top desk drawer. The one that he bought the last time that he was definite that he could give this journalism thing a try.

He could… the worst that could happen is that he’d have to tell Niall that he couldn’t do it, that he couldn’t find the words to describe the evening.

Harry thinks about checking his reminders, just to see if he is free tomorrow, but that’s the sort of lie that he doesn’t need to play out, because of course he is free.

And so why shouldn’t he? Really? What could go wrong?

Harry picks up his phone again, and types a response to Niall.

_ Thanks Niall. I’ll look into it. Hope you didn’t actually puke on Sophia. X _

Resting his phone on the bedside table, he sets about getting ready for bed.

…

He doesn’t sleep well.

But this time, Harry thinks it is because he is nervous.

…

 


	2. Part Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part 2. (seriously, this is an AU, please don’t read without the context.)
> 
> SFW. This is all lies.

He turns up early, of course.

Harry is permanently early. It’s a pattern that he can’t fully kick; he’ll get nervous about letting someone down, or making them wait around. And so he ends up getting there twenty minutes early, and trying to pretend that he  _ just  _ got there, when the other person arrives.

This time, somehow, is almost worst, because there’s going to be no-one eventually turning up. He’s just going to be by himself for the entire night. With a  _ notebook,  _ for crap’s sake.

Luckily this is still New York, and so everyone is busy paying no attention to anyone else. It’s an unloved building, but there’s a stage which is brightly lit, and a multitude of mismatched chairs and couches and beanbags for the audience to arrange as they wish. And, thankfully, there’s a bar at the back of the room which must serve alcohol, surely; this is a student night.

Harry orders a martini, and then wonders why he did so, it is too dry and unpleasant and almost the exact opposite of what he wanted.

Journalists would probably order martinis though. And enjoy them. And probably wouldn’t bring the notepad to the event, but instead keep notes on their phone – more subtle.

Make he could pretend the notebook was already here when he arrived, that it was just sitting on the bar and Harry just happened to lean on it unwittingly.

He saves that impulse for later, and scans the room instead. It seems to be filling up well enough; it’s a bit of a hipster crowd, for some reason, a pretty high ratio of hat and glasses to the standard Brooklyn population. Harry thinks that maybe he should go and sit down, in one of the faded arm chairs at the back, because otherwise he’s going to have to sit near the front, and lord knows he doesn’t want people to notice him making notes.

Harry takes another sip of his drink, and then winces, because he hates it, today. Instead he fishes the olive out of the bottom with the toothpick, and pops it in his mouth, chewing rapidly as he tries to gather himself.

Glancing down the bar, there’s another boy there, who seems to look away from him quickly, just as Harry looks over. There’s a suggestion of a smile, maybe, in the shadow of the boy’s face, and  _ great _ , Harry thinks. Someone caught him looking like he’s ordered a drink that he hates, and even though that is the long and short of it, essentially, Harry sure as hell doesn’t want to broadcast that fact.

He hops down from the bar stool, and tries to not notice the fact that this makes him feel a great deal smaller. Picking up his notepad, because he doesn’t want to do anything to draw any more attention from this boy, Harry makes his way to the seats.

…

The first act is pretty sucky, Harry has to admit. Some man who thinks that shouting equals comedy. Harry doesn’t make any notes, doesn’t even catch his name, just sinks deeper into the arm chair. Thankfully some of this guy’s friends seem to be watching, laughing supportively, which means Harry doesn’t feel any pressure to politely pretend to be enjoying himself.

He considers opening up his notepad, just for something to do. But some hyper-sensitivity alerts him to the fact that the boy from the bar is sitting just a couple of chairs down, with no-one inbetween them, and Harry is feeling awkward, for some reason.

The boy doesn’t seem to be with anyone either.

Maybe he got stood up. But that seems unlikely. Boys who look like that don’t get stood up.

Oh,  _ maybe  _ he’s an actual reviewer. Maybe that’s why he was smiling at Harry’s notebook. Maybe Harry’s about to get schooled.

The act changes at that point, and Harry claps his hands vaguely, once or twice, before checking the line-up for the millionth time.

Just one more comedian, and then the Stan guy that Niall couldn’t shut up about. Harry checks his coat pocket for a pen, again, just in case it had decided to dematerialise.

The boy who might be a real journalist pays hardly any attention during the second act, from what Harry can tell. He’s seems to spend a lot of time on his phone, in the moments that Harry looks over at him.

Harry sighs, and rearranges his legs, attempting to concentrate on the stage and the slightly improved round of jokes.

He can’t help but feeling like he is being observed, somehow.

…

There’s a five minute break, in between the second warm up act and the headliner, and Harry stands up to go get another drink, this time one that he actually wants.

The conversation in the room has gone up from a murmur to a buzz, and Harry can sense that some of these different groups of people are greeting each other, that everyone in this room vaguely knows everyone else, or at least recognises each other.

And then there is Harry. Alone. And clutching a notebook.

He rolls his eyes at nothing, and takes a steady drink, trying to remind himself that Niall damn well raved about the next act, this evening won’t be an entire waste of his time.

“Hi, um, sorry to bother you but; what’s with the notebook?”

Oh shit. The other possible journalist has come over, is speaking to him. Harry panics, because maybe there is a journalist guild that he should have joined, maybe he’s encroaching on this small boy’s territory.

“Uh, nothing, it’s just…”

“If you’re planning on writing a review you should send it to Stan – it’s really hard to get genuine feedback from everyone here, they all just blow smoke up his ass, the bunch of sycophants.”

What? Harry tries to steer himself towards the conversation.

“Oh, right, um. I’m not a journalist, or anything. I just… I just thought maybe. I’d try to, and see if, well. You know.”

The girl observes him for a moment, and then nods, as if he  _ does  _ know, which is very polite of him, a small part of Harry’s brain registers.

“Okay, well, if you do write something, email it. Here…”

The notebook gets removed from Harry’s unresisting fingers, and the boy produces his own pen, somehow, and writes an email address down. Harry peers at it, entirely confused.

“loutommo at yahoo dot com…”

“Yep, that’s me. I’m Louis. So, yeah. Email it. If you don’t Stan will only think you hated every second.”

Harry frowns, because something hasn’t completely joined up in his head yet.

“But… why would I email you?”

Louis blinks, and then laughs, pointing a finger to his own chest.

“Oh, shit, sorry, that must have been confusing. Stan’s my friend. I was supposed to be supporting him tonight, but then Stan wanted to give Jacob a chance, and so I passed on tonight- I’ve a bit of a sore throat anyway. If you’d have come a different night you could have reviewed me as well.”

Something about the final sentence sends a peculiar sensation through Harry, something vaguely unsettling, and he looks down at the email address again, trying not to feel too stupid.

“Oh, okay. Um. My friend came last night, and said he loved it; it’s a shame that I didn’t come with him.”

Louis nods, and states baldly “Yes. Nevermind. Next time, huh?”

Harry abruptly feels out of his depth.

“Okay, well, I guess I’ll let you know about the review thing.”

The lights start dimming, and Louis steps away from him, heading back towards his seat. Harry picks up his drink, and follows, trying to not seem rude or incompetent or  _ unprofessional, _ or whatever he’s supposed to be doing.

“You do that. We’ll be waiting. It was nice to meet you…”

Something about the end of the sentence is phrased as a question, and Harry supplies the answer, half a second too late.

“Harry. My name’s Harry.”

“Cool. It was nice to meet you Harry. I hope you enjoy the show.”

…

Harry tries for the first five minutes, really hard. He writes down something about puns, and dirty jokes, and rapport with the audience, and quick wit.

And then he gives up, and just laughs along with the rest of the audience.

Because jesus  _ fuck  _ this man is hilarious.

It’s an hour long power house of comedy, and Harry doesn’t go to many comedy shows, and so doesn’t have much to compare this to, but he is pretty sure that developing a stitch from laughing too hard is a good sign, surely.

He registers, in the brief moments when he can focus on something other than the comedy master-class on stage, that Louis is laughing just as hard as anyone else, cackling in a way that feels really distinctive to Harry, somehow. Is it possible to have an interesting laugh? He doesn’t know.

Louis must already know all the jokes, and see them coming a mile off, and  _ still  _ laughs really hard at each one. Harry has to be impressed, because that means that Stan is improv-ing, much of this. Harry tries to make a mental note, to save it for the review.

Louis catches his eye, one time in the aftermath of a particularly hilarious joke, as if he is checking that Harry is actually enjoying himself. Harry grins mindlessly at him, while wiping a tear away from underneath his eye, and Louis sends a thumbs up his way, as if to say  _ see? Isn’t my friend awesome? _

And Harry has to admit, Stan kind of is.

…

The Louis boy just waves once at him, at the end of Stan’s act, before he mimes typing on a keyboard, and points at his own chest. Harry doesn’t have the body language skills to be able to say  _ yeah, had a great time, but I’m not sure if I’m going to send it to you or even write this up because I’m not sure I even have the confidence to show my best friend what I think _ , so he just nods, and waves back.

Louis grins, and then disappears off to the front, waving at a few people who seem to have to muster courage before attracting his attention. Louis is known in this room, Harry realizes. A recognized face, who no-one was completely bold enough to go up and speak to, before the show. Harry doesn’t know why he didn’t notice this before.

On the subway back, Harry thinks about the way Louis had waved at the few people, somehow acknowledging their interest whilst also ignoring them. But not offending them, somehow. Harry knows that he would have felt compelled to speak to every person who greeted him, and probably lost about half an hour of the night.

He then remembers that it is supposed to be Stan Lucas, at the centre of his thoughts tonight, and he takes out his notebook, eager to record his reactions before they fade.

…

Niall calls, after Harry has been in for long enough to make himself a coffee.

“Well?”

Harry nods, and then can tell the grin is creeping into his answer, despite his best efforts.

“Yeah, okay… it was hysterical. It took me a couple of seconds to tune into it, because that boy is fucking crazy, no? But then- I don’t know. I don’t think I understood half the jokes, but I was howling with laughter the entire time. He’s amazing – I get why you were so excited.”

Niall cackles at him for a bit, down the phone, and then sobers abruptly.

“So; I have fixed your funk? Also, are you going to write a review?”

Harry looks down at his notepad and pen out in front of him, and the macbook just to one side, and the coffee, despite the fact that it is now quarter to midnight.

“Uh. I don’t know. I might go to sleep. But all the laughing was good Niall – I’m definitely in a better mood.”

There’s the vague noise of a door being closed, and Harry can tell that Niall is settling into his room for the night. It doesn’t stop his answer firing back, as sharp as a tack.

“You know I can tell when you are lying, Harry? Write it, at least. Even if you never show me. We’ll work up to it, how about that?”

Harry rolls his eyes at him, because Niall’s annoying, sometimes, with how on point he is with his understanding of Harry.

“Bye, Niall, you patronizing little ass.”

Niall gasps for a second, and then laughs loudly.

“Whatever honey, let me know how it goes tomorrow, okay?”

Harry hangs up smiling, and then sits at the table for a moment, idly clicking his pen and scanning his notes for inspiration.

He realizes that he didn’t ask Niall about what he thought of Louis’s part of the comedy night, when he saw them yesterday. Harry can’t imagine that Louis has the same kind of humor as Stan. In fact, he can’t think at all what kind of jokes Louis does. Maybe he’s just very charming and lovely on stage, and somehow people laugh at that.

Maybe he doesn’t even tell jokes. Maybe Harry has misunderstood entirely, and Louis is actually a juggler. Or an escapologist. Or a ventriloquist.

Harry snorts, quietly, at the concept, and rubs at his forehead, frowning.

Okay. Reviews. He used to do this sort of thing at high school, for the school magazine; he can’t have forgotten the technique entirely.

Stan’s main ammunition seemed to be gross out comedy; there was other stuff, but the parts of the night which got the biggest laughs were incredible jokes which predominantly hinged on queefs and farts and sharts and belching and generally that sort of thing. So maybe Harry should try and reflect that, in the review.

_ Do you remember how hard we used to laugh when we were eight? When hearing someone burp accidentally, or try to pass wind subtly and fail, was just about the height of comedy genius? Remember how fun that was? _

_ And then we grow up, and we discover wit, and satire, and the concept of high brow humor. And we distance ourselves from the jokes we used to laugh at, because only  _ immature  _ people laugh at that sort of thing. _

_ But don’t you wish you were eight again, and could laugh hard again. And not in a post-modern, ironic sort of way, but just straight up, wiping tears away, laughing until part of you worries that you might actually be sick? _

_ That is the magic of Stan Lucas. He invites you regress, to a point where it is okay, to laugh at his quick wit about bodily functions, because that’s the point, that’s the sole aim, to make the audience have a really good time. He’s not trying to prove his wit, or his intelligence, or his quirky take on modern life. He’s just trying to make you laugh until you cry, until your stomach is cramping up. _

_ And for the first two minutes, you might fight it. You might think that you are better than this. But then you might catch the eye of the person sitting next to you, and realize that they’ve been fighting it as well. And then you might give up, and go with it, because the jokes are too good and the laughs around you are too loud, and why fight a good time? Where’s the sense in that? _

_ Because, all Stan Lucas really wants you to do, is have a good time. And if he can achieve that by pulling funny faces and telling jokes that should really only appeal to our inner eight year old, then so be it. Who wouldn’t volunteer to be eight years old again, for one night? _

Harry pauses, and puts down his pen, re-reading. He spots a mistake, crosses it out neatly, and replaces the word with a more fitting one.

He then realizes that he is  _ doing it, _ this counts as reviewing something, right?

Harry takes a sip of coffee, and picks up his pen again.

…


	3. Chapter Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part Three.  
> It is also SFW and all lies.

Harry wakes up with a start, a pulse of panic flowing through him, because the sun should not be that high in the sky, as he is waking up.

It takes him a second to remember that today is Sunday, and he doesn’t have to be in work today.

And then he realizes that the reason for the confusion is the fact that he stayed up so late last night, looking at a computer screen – something he only associates with a last minute deadline disaster, for the office.

Harry throws back the covers, and shuffles to the edge of his double bed, pushing his hair out of his face and yawning softly. His room is small, made even smaller by the double bed, and from here Harry could poke out his toe and touch the opposite wall, but he isn’t sacrificing the sleeping space – he likes a bed that he can get lost in.

His macbook is sitting on the shelf, stand-by light blinking quietly. Harry opens up the screen, and finds his first ever review staring back at him.

Last night he’d checked the word count, and had laughed quietly at himself, because he is pretty sure that reviews aren’t supposed to be over one thousand words long. However, re-scanning it, Harry finds that there isn’t a sentence that he can bear to edit, and he’s pretty sure a  _ real _ journalist wouldn’t have that problem.

Whatever. It’s a great deal further than he’s ever gotten in the past. Harry’s pleased with the result.

And now it is just a question of deciding whether he shows it to people.

Harry stretches, and pulls on a sweater, intent on getting into the shower before one of the others beats him to it. Decisions are a bit easier, in the shower.

…

Harry stalls, making himself breakfast instead, a bowl of granola with yoghurt, and a banana. He sits on the couch, macbook on his knee, but turns on the television instead.

After half an hour, Zayn’s door opens quietly on to their shared living space, and Harry turns in his seat, all ready to wave a greeting around the mouthful of granola he is currently working on, but then realizes that this is not Zayn, unless Zayn has shrunk nearly a foot and also transformed into a less-muscled woman in her underwear.

Harry waves at her anyway, awkwardly, because he can hardly pretend to not have noticed her, and then goes back to the television, chewing furiously and trying to ignore the burn on his cheeks. He listens to her pad her way to the bathroom, and breathes out a sigh of relief when he hears the door shut and their shower shudder into life.

Honestly, you’d think he’d be used to it by now, suddenly having to deal with women, emerging from one of the other bedrooms after a night out. All three of his roommates are attractive. It is normal for them to have a love life.

Harry doesn’t know why it makes him feel stupid. It just does.

His phone lights up at this point, providing a grateful distraction.

_ Haz? Should I be waiting by my inbox, or are we pretending that this never happened?  _

Pursing his lips, Harry returns to the email, with an attachment that still hasn’t been sent yet.

And whatever. Why not?

…

By the afternoon, once he has dealt with a weird phone call from Niall which reminded him of some of the conversations that he had with his university lecturers, all positive feedback and encouragement, Harry sits down in front of his macbook again.

This is a thing that journalists have to do, surely; have enough belief in the validity of their words that they are happy for the subject of the review to read their thoughts.

It doesn’t stop him feeling nervous, or re-writing the email about forty seven times.

_ Hi, _

_ This is Harry. I’m the boy from last night, with the notebook? You gave me your email address, and told me to send through my thoughts? Well, they are attached. _

_ (Disclaimer- this is the first review I’ve ever written, and I sure as hell didn’t plan on showing it to anyone. But you asked nicely. You can show it to Stan if you think he’ll be interested.) _

_ Hope you are having a good Sunday, _

_ Harry _

He presses send, and then immediately opens the mail up again in his sent box, checking for spelling mistakes or stealth stupidity.

Seems okay.

Harry realizes that he is sweating from nerves. And it is half past three in the afternoon, and if he isn’t careful, he’ll have spent the entire Sunday indoors.

He pulls on his coat, and then heads out for a walk.

…

The walk turns into a trip to the grocery store on the corner, because Harry thinks that he is going to make himself ill if he doesn’t get some fresh fruit and veg into his system at some point. There’s a limit to how much tinned soup and bread based meals a person can tolerate.

He buys slightly too much, which makes the walk home more of a stagger than a stroll, and sighs with relief when he can dump the bags on the counter. One tips over, and sends a couple of apples bouncing towards the floors, and Harry swears under his breath, before retrieving them, hoping against hope that they aren’t too bruised.

Harry makes a spaghetti bolognese that night, preparing a salad to have with it whilst the pasta boils. Liam and Zayn appear, conveniently, close to the point when he is about ready to eat, which means the left overs which were going to be Harry’s meals for two more nights become two extra dishes. Harry isn’t a good cook, but the others are hopeless, and Harry can’t help but try to feed them up, now and then.

They end up talking, and laughing, about the previous night, because the girl in Zayn’s room this morning was someone that Zayn had been hoping to hook up with for some time, but had only managed to take things to the next level by tripping and falling over next to her. Luckily she’d been a sport, and things had progressed from there, but Zayn’s retelling of the moment  _ is  _ funny.

“Oh god, I thought I was about to die of shame, I nearly fell face first into her crotch.”

Harry snorts, and picks idly at the remains of his salad with his fork.

“It’s a nice story to tell your grandkids though. ‘Your grandma and I met when I almost gave her accidental oral at near terminal velocity…’”

The two boys laugh, for longer than Harry thinks the joke merited, but whatever. He likes it when people like at his jokes.

Something connects in his head, and Harry thinks that maybe he’ll go and check his inbox, just to see if Louis replied.

“Do you guys mind if I leave the dishes for a while; I’ve got a few things to do?”

Liam jumps down from his stool immediately, and pokes Zayn in the side.

“Don’t worry, we’ll do them, it’s only fair. Thanks for the food. And the company; it was good to hang out and have a bit of a catch up.”

Harry nods vaguely, mind already elsewhere. But it is funny, he thinks, how these boys seem to like his company. He feels permanently as though he’s speaking in a foreign language just to communicate with them.

His room is a good two degrees cooler than the rest of the apartment, for some reason, and Harry shrugs on a hoodie, before sitting cross-legged on his bed and powering up his macbook.

There’s an email.

_ Whoa, hello. You actually sent it. Cool. That’s cool. You did a cool thing – yay you! _

_ So I read it. It made me smile. I sent it over to Stan, because he’ll love it. Not because you said plenty of complimentary things, (although he’ll enjoy that too) but because it is the most professional sounding review he’s had. It could be in a paper. You said you were just starting? You should carry on. You are really good with words. I like that. _

_ My Sunday has been okay. I’m trying to decide whether to lie and pretend that I’ve done plenty of cool things, like visited an art gallery and rode a Segway through Central Park. But I really haven’t – I’ve laid in my bed and watched six episodes of Breaking Bad back to back while trying to drown myself in Doritos. And that’s the truth. Or maybe it isn’t. Maybe that’s the lie because I’m trying to seem relaxed and down to earth. You’ll never know, basically. Aren’t mysteries fun? _

_ Anyway, cool. So, do you want to go for a drink sometime? Maybe next week? To consider your future journalistic career in more detail? Let me know when’s good for you? Or, don’t, if you don’t want to, and I’ll pretend that this paragraph never happened. I’m good at that. But this is a pretty pessimistic way of looking at things, and I’m going to try and pretend to be optimistic, while you are considering whether to go for a drink, because who wants to go for a drink with a pessimistic person? Not me. So I’ll rephrase; I’m busy Wednesday and Thursday night. All others are an option. Tell me what’s good, and we’ll go from there. _

_ It was nice to meet you Harry. _

_ Louis.  _

Harry blinks several times, and then realizes that he has been holding his breath.

This boy seems…

Harry grins. And then frowns. And then re-reads the email.

…

He plays with his phone for a long while, absent-mindedly, before realizing that he is stalling for no good reason, and pressing the call button.

“Hey Niall.”

“Oh  _ heeeey _ … wait, we just spoke this afternoon – what’s up?”

See, this was the problem that was making Harry stall in the first place; he doesn’t really know how to work the question into a standard conversation. So he just comes out with it.

“Nothing. I just, umm, I forgot to ask, you know when you went to see Stan; do you remember the person on before?”

Niall pauses, and hums slightly to himself, apparently thinking.

“Aah… remind me?”

Harry panics briefly, because now he’s having to describe Louis, and all he can really remember is  _ brown hair _ , and  _ made me feel a bit odd. _

“Uh. A boy. Um, short, I guess…”

Niall gasps, and sounds like he claps a palm to his forehead, and Harry sighs, relieved he doesn’t have to try and describe Louis any further.

“ _ Oh,  _ oh shit wait yes, the short pretty boy. Yeah I remember him. He was super cute. He made me giggle. Not, like,  _ scream _ , like Stan did, but I remember giggling. Also, I remember feeling like I recognized him from somewhere- I don’t know. Why, what did you think of him?”

Harry scratches at the back of his head, because is this strange? He feels like he is making this more weird that it needs to be.

“No, um, he wasn’t performing, when I went.”

“Riiiight… okay, so how do you know about him?”

“Because… he was there, and saw me with a notebook, and came to talk to me – I think he wanted me to send him and Stan whatever I had written. They’re friends.”

Niall laughs, finding something amusing, and Harry can just imagine the way his eyes go wide, when he hears something that he knows isn’t going to work out well.

“Okay, wow, he really doesn’t know you, good lord, the effort it took to get you to show your words to  _ me… _ ”

Harry clears his throat hurriedly, and then plunges on into the conversation.

“So anyway, I emailed the review, and Louis emailed back, and has suggested meeting up for a drink, and I was just wondering whether he came across as a psychopath, or unhinged, in any way? Because he seems a bit crazy, from his email, so I’m wondering whether this is a good idea.”

Niall is quiet, for a moment that Harry thinks he must be magnifying somehow, in his head. He struggles not to fidget. Niall sounds… odd, somehow, when he does speak.

“… do you want to go for a drink with him?”

Harry looks around, and catches his own eye in the mirror. He’s frowning, he realizes, and rubs at his forehead, trying to get the lines to smooth out.

“I… I guess. He seems- fun. I think. I don’t have many male friends who I actually get on with, and I think I’d get on with him, so I thought that… is this weird?”

It certainly feels weird right now, but this might be a weirdness that is entirely self-constructed by Harry. Niall seems to have recovered his stride, from whatever brief stumble he had, and the conversation glides smoothly on.

“No, Haz. If you want to go for a drink then go for a drink, if all you are asking is whether he seemed like a mass murderer, then I’m going to go ahead and say that I am ninety per-cent sure that he isn’t. I’d risk it.”

…

‘ _ Risk it’.  _ It’s such a silly phrase, for what is just a drink with someone who seems cool. Because that’s it, Harry’s decided. Louis seems cool. Harry doesn’t know many cool boys; plenty of nice ones, but no  _ cool _ ones.

And there’s nothing weird about wanting to make a new friend; good god, the basics of human social interactions are based on whether or not people are capable of making friends. Harry thinks he can probably cope with this.

Harry likes the idea of being friends with Louis. Maybe. He doesn’t know. He barely knows Louis, apart from one awkward conversation and one very odd email in which Louis sounded like he was typing drunk, but then again maybe that’s just how Louis’ brain operates.

Harry pulls his Macbook onto his lap before he can reconsider, and opens up his emails.

_ Hi, _

_ For the record, I’m a pretty paranoid person, and I now think that the entire Segway/Doritos dilemma was actually an elaborate double bluff, and you had spent the morning doing a third options. Please neither confirm nor deny – my brain couldn’t take the possible permutations. _

_ Drink sounds good – Tuesday night? Are you local to that theater, cause we could meet somewhere around there? It’s only a couple of stops away from where I live. _

_ Thanks for saying nice things about the review; I was nervous about sending it to you. _

_ Harry. _

Harry concentrates on only allowing himself to re-read his email twice, and then presses send. There. Easy. All done.

He deliberately turns off the computer, deliberately places it on the shelf, deliberately goes to brush his teeth, deliberately gets into bed.

See? Basic human social interaction is easy.

…


	4. Chapter Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is SFW. And this is all lies.

Monday passes. Harry barely notices it.

On Tuesday night, Harry packs his desk up slightly earlier, mindful of the journey home and his distaste for being late to anything, particularly if he is meeting someone who he doesn’t know very well.

He meets Eleanor at the elevators, and Harry receives a nod and a smile from the dark haired girl.

“Hello? You don’t usually leave this early – thought you stayed here until the cleaners forcibly evicted you.”

Harry rolls his eyes good-naturedly, because this joke is a bit of an on-going theme in the office, despite the fact that it was just that  _ one time. _

“Yeah, no, I’m meeting up with someone, so I thought that all my midnight hours must have earned me an early escape this time.”

Eleanor nods and pushes the button, and the doors close in front of them. She then opens up her bag, seeming to check for her phone.

“Someone?” Eleanor asks, probably just to fill the air, but Harry finds himself rushing to provide the answer.

“Oh, yeah, just someone. Male. A friend. A male friend.”

Eleanor grins briefly at him, then goes back to her phone.

“Aww, cool, how long have you known him?”

Umm. Harry looks down at his feet, at the shoes which he wears to work.

“Not, really that long. It’s more of a… I’m meeting up with him just to see if he could be a friend, I think.”

Eleanor is probably giving him a baffled look at this point. Hell, Harry thinks there are bits of his  _ own brain _ which are giving him a baffled look. Thankfully the elevator doors ping open at that point, and Harry’s free.

“See you tomorrow!”

…

The drama, of course, is what to wear.

Harry knew that he should have planned this last night. He was hoping for some kind of last minute inspiration. And he can’t call Niall, because Harry gets the impression that Niall already thinks he’s being weird enough about this.

Louis would wear something cool, no doubt. He seems like that kind of guy.

Harry doesn’t own anything cool. He isn’t that kind of guy.

Sighing, Harry rubs at his forehead. This isn’t something to get stressed about.

…

Harry gets there first. Of course. Of course.

It’s a bar that he knows vaguely, Harry thinks that he visited it a couple of times when he first set up in Brooklyn, and then stopped visiting as life sped up. It serves cold beers, and has a tapas menu which looks pretty appetising. Harry picks up the menu, and concentrates on not letting his knee bounce up and down.

He’s really like to be able to fast forward his life, just for once. Just up to the point where Louis is sitting opposite, and they’ve already done all the introduction and awkwardness. Is that so much to ask?

…

Louis snorts, looking over at him and chasing the straw in his drink with the tip of his tongue.

“Do… that one.”

Harry squints down at the menu, in the dim-lighting, and then orders ham and cheese croquets, in Spanish with a heavy accent, to no one except a laughing Louis.

“Jamon y queso croquetas, por favor.”

Harry doesn’t really know why Louis is laughing so hard, but finds himself going along with it, sitting back in his chair and giggling. Louis waves a hand around, pointing at the bar.

“Our server wasn’t Spanish, you know? I’m pretty sure the Spanish side of the menu is just there for show; they don’t expect people to actually use it! He had no idea what you were talking about.”

Harry grins, throwing in a few shrugs for good measure.

“I like languages, I think any time you could use a foreign language but you don’t is a wasted opportunity.”

Louis shakes his head, and looks down at his drink, moving the ice about with his straw. Harry waits, and after a moment Louis smiles, and then rests his chin on his hands, and just looks at Harry. Harry can’t take it, somehow, and looks away, hiding his question in a laugh.

“What?”

“I’m just trying to figure out if you are a weirdo.”

Harry shrugs.

“Oh, I’ve spent plenty of time wondering that about you. So we’re at least on compatible levels of paranoia, if nothing else.”

Louis grins, and takes a sip of his drink again, as Harry fidgets and shuffles and inspects the strap of his watch for no reason whatsoever.

“I’d say we’ve got that, at least.”

…

Over the food, the talk turns to Stan, and Niall’s reaction to him.

“I only came because my boy Niall sent me an email raving about the show. He told me to get myself down there and have a go at reviewing – I’m glad I did.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. I’ve never been able to write anything that I was happy to show to people; Stan managed to get that out of me.”

Louis wrinkles his nose slightly, smiling.

“I find that hard to believe; what you wrote was great. Stan has spent the last couple of days wandering around the apartment, quoting bits of it.”

Harry grins at the idea, and worries that he’s looking too pleased with himself, and so moves the conversation on.

“You guys live together?”

Louis nods, concentrating on picking out the best shrimp from the pile.

“Yup. Just roommates, you know? He drives me crazy sometimes, but I think I do the same to him, too, so. He’s my best friend.”

Something about the statement sounds strange to Harry, but he can’t process it, instead just rips off another corner of bread.

“That’s cool, to live with someone you’re that close to. I’m best buds with Niall, but he lives over towards Williamsburg.”

Louis pushes his hand through his hair, frowning at Harry slightly.

“Niall… what does he look like?”

Harry waves a finger in the air, trying to draw him out for Louis to see.

“Oh, um, you know. Really Niall. Small, he’s like 5,9 on tippy toes, like you, blonde hair, quiffy thing, glasses. He’s also got this crazy giggle thing going on, which you probably heard, if he reacted to your show like he says he did…”

Louis' eyes widen, and he points, suddenly.

“Oh! Yes, I mean, I heard someone with this awesome laugh when Stan was on, and I was backstage, that might have been him. I didn’t hear him when I was on stage, but then again I never hear anything when I’m on stage; the stress levels are too high.”

Harry snorts, and then realizes that Louis isn’t joking, but instead just dead-panning at him. Louis' eyes widen dramatically, and Harry giggles, because that’s what he seems to be doing a lot of tonight.

“Oh, um, well, he said he enjoyed your bit as well, so if you’d been capable of hearing  _ anything _ you would have heard him.”

Louis shrugs.

“Maybe. It tends to take audiences a bit longer to get me. Stan’s instant impact; I have to work for it. I’ve got a few people who come to see me, but I don’t know. It’s harder for the crowd to pick up where my comedy is going, straight away. I think… I don’t know, I want to be one of those cult comedians who most of the people think is weird and unfunny, and then there’s like a devoted minority who think I’m hilarious so… sorry, this is a bit of an egotistical speech.”

Harry shakes his head, not wanting to put Louis of from talking about himself because Harry’s finding it all really interesting.

“No no, Louis, ambition is good, I like it.”

Louis ducks his head, and shrugs, grinning. Harry continues, searching for something to say that’ll make Louis talk more about what he does on stage, how this giggly, awkward boy translates into a joke cracker.

“I’ll have to come again sometime. I’ll have to come review you.”

Snorting, Louis reaches for his drink, eyeing Harry, who blushes abruptly.

“I bet that’s what you say to all the boys.”

Harry doesn’t really know what to say to that, so just fumbles for his drink and tries to remember how jokes work. Louis grins at him after second, and waggles his eyebrows, until Harry snorts, at just how  _ goofy _ this boy is, and then the moment passes.

…

Harry manages to register, when his mind has stopped  _ thrumming  _ from stress seemingly provoked by having a conversation with someone new, that Louis hadn’t worn something cool. Instead he’s in this long sleeved, shapeless sweater, which is light-colored but otherwise unremarkable. Harry sends a silent prayer of thanks up towards whatever might be listening, because nothing makes him more uncomfortable than feeling like he hasn’t matched his clothing to what the rest of the company is wearing, and Louis' sweater makes Harry feel really happy about the v neck and jacket combination he’d ultimately gone for.

Besides, on reflection, Harry thinks he should have probably guessed that Louis would dress down. Pretty people rarely need to make a big effort; in fact it is probably part of some kind of elaborate game plan-  _ look how radiant I look in even the simplest of outfits. _

Harry doesn’t know where this train of thought is coming from. Usually he feels vaguely annoyed by attractive boys, but maybe that’s because he associates attractive boys with vacant boys, or boys who really aren’t his sort of people, and Harry isn’t getting any of those vibes from Louis.

He puts the thought to one side.

…

Louis has to get on a different line to travel the one stop up towards his and Stan’s place, so they part ways at the subway entrance.

Harry suddenly has no idea what to do with his hands. He thrusts them into his pockets, abruptly, and rocks on his heels.

“So, uh, we should do something like this again, no? This was fun; I had a good time.”

Louis blinks at him, and then smiles, tipping his head to one side.

“Sure- I’d like that. Thank you for suggesting it; I hate it when people are vague and indecisive.”

Harry shrugs, and decides that the reason that he’s making such heavy work of this,  _ despite _ the fact that him and Louis clearly get on, is because it has just been so long since he made a new friend. And also because Louis keeps saying things which don’t fully match with the route Harry anticipated for the conversation, and Harry feels permanently slightly off balance.

“Okay, so… I’ll be in touch. Um. Have a good rest of the week.”

Louis' smile widens, and Harry feels like he is being observed, rather than just looked at.

“Do you… oh shit, tell me if this is a bit, I don’t know,  _ quick, _ or whatever, but me and Mames are going to a house party on Saturday night – a friend’s birthday. If you wanted to come with me, I’d like that.”

Noticing the way that Louis bites his lip, immediately afterwards, as if he is worried about the response, Harry takes a step forward, so that the rest of the footfall moving through the station is less obvious, somehow.

“No, that’s… cool. I have no plans, so, yeah, I’d like that too. Niall’s always telling me I should actually be doing things during the weekend, rather than just waiting for the week to start again.”

Harry wants to swallow the sentence, the moment it is out of his mouth, because  _ wow,  _ way to sound like a recluse, but thankfully Louis latches on to another part of the sentence.

“Oh, and bring Niall, too, if you want. He sounds like the sort of boy who should be part of Stan’s harem.”

Harry grins at that, and laughs, easily, because yes, he really should.

“Yeah, oh he’ll be playing it cool, but internally he’ll be screaming.”

Louis smiles gently at him for a moment, and Harry doesn’t know what to do with the space.

“Umm. So. Is there like a suggested dress code, or anything? Should I bring something? And should we come and meet you guys somewhere beforehand, or just turn up?”

Looking like he is biting down on a laugh, Louis grins, and shakes his head.

“I’ll text you, huh? Or email. I’ll be in touch, anyway.”

Harry nods a few times, and then has to look away, because the eye contact is getting difficult.

“Okay, well, awesome. I’d best… uh. Be going. But tonight was great, really great. I had a great time.”

Louis looks around at the busy station, and then nods, smile crinkling at his eyes.

“Bye Harry. Keep an eye on your phone.”

…

During the thirty minutes it takes him to get home (five minutes waiting for the subway, fifteen minutes sitting down, ten minutes from leaving the car to her door) Harry thinks about his night.

He really did have a great time. So great that he apparently had to say it multiple times, as he was saying goodbye to Louis.

Louis laughs easily, and has a way of phrasing things that makes Harry laugh. They seem to share similar values. Isn’t this what friendship are based upon?

Harry doesn’t have many male friends that he genuinely gets on with. He thinks that he would like to change this. Would like Louis to  _ be _ the change.

As he is making himself a hot drink, Harry agonizes over whether to call Niall tonight and tell him about their joint invite to a Saturday night party. He doesn’t want to look like he is too excited. But equally, Niall has a tendency to get booked up, and Harry wants to make sure that he goes with him.

In the end common sense wins out, and Harry kicks off his shoes and deposits himself on the couch, before calling Niall.

“Hey Harrrrrrrrrrrrry…”

Niall is drawling at him as if Harry has just proved him right, and Harry rolls his eyes at himself, vaguely.

“Hey- quick question; are you free Saturday night? Have you got anything glamorous penned into your schedule yet?”

Niall giggles at him good-naturedly, and Harry can tell that he is preening.

“No, not yet, though I anticipate being triple booked by the end of the week. Why?”

Harry clears his throat, briefly struggling with which tone of voice to use to ask the question.

“Oh, because apparently Louis and your icon Stan are going to a house party, and we have an invite, if you were up for it?”

Niall is silent for a moment, and then asks an entirely separate question.

“Did you and Louis have a good time then?”

Harry shrugs, because  _ duh.  _ And why hide it?

“Yeah, really good, obviously, otherwise I wouldn’t be considering the party invite. Come on Ni, what do you say? I’ve practically arranged a play date for you and Stan, don’t be coy with me.”

Niall snorts at him, but Harry can tell that he is secretly already planning what he is going to wear.

“Oh,  _ fine _ , pencil me in as a maybe, but if any of the Hemsworths get back to me then you are being dropped, okay Harry?”

Harry grins, grateful.

“Sure, I’ll make it clear to Louis that you are a very unsure maybe, for now. Thanks Niall.”

“No problem Hazza. Now, can we rain check on doing a de-brief of tonight until tomorrow; I have to be up and on the other side of the city very early in the morning.”

Harry hadn’t been planning a debrief, but the conversation is flowing in the right direction anyway, so why fight it?

“Sure thing Ni; sleep well.”

…

Harry checks his phone as he is getting into bed that night.

_ I had a great time too. See you on Saturday. X _

He falls asleep grinning.

…


	5. Chapter Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is part 5. This is an AU, inspired by a brain melting prompt from an anon.  
> Thanks for reading :)

Harry frets.

He doesn’t know what to wear.  _ Again. _

Thankfully Niall is here, all energy and confidence and excitement, so Harry just gets to sit on his bed and toy idly with his phone, while Niall rips through his closet with all the tact and subtly of a sledge hammer.

“Thank god I’m here Harry, what the hell do you even wear during a night out?”

Harry watches stoically as Niall throws another top on to his impromptu reject pile.

“I don’t go out Niall, we’ve been through this… also, you know that I will have to re-hang all of these when you leave?  _ Also _ , what on earth is wrong with that shirt? I like that shirt.”

Niall looks at him sternly, one hand on hip.

“It’s a  _ work  _ shirt Harry, you are not going to this house party in a  _ work  _ shirt, I have to be seen in your company.”

Harry smiles at his sense of outrage, and then goes back to checking his phone, a habit he seems to have developed over the past few days, since Louis started sending her messages.

Niall catches the movement, and looks like he hides a smile.

“Concentrate Harry. Why do you have no clothes?”

Harry gestures at the pile.

“We both know that isn’t the case.”

“Why don’t you have any clothes that you can wear for a night out?”

“Niall…”

Niall hold up a hand, and pokes a toe towards the offending pile.

“Whenever I’ve seen you wearing any of these, you’ve looked wildly unhappy. Why do you insist on thinking that you have to buy boring clothes?”

Harry flips him off wearily, because now is not the time to have a personality deconstruction.

“Niall, can you not, we have to leave in half an hour, I’d prefer to turn up feeling reasonably good about myself, can we leave the tough love for another time?”

Niall frowns at him.

“You’re implying that my love has another setting?”

Harry snorts, and leans over the bed, reaching for the sleeve of the shirt that Niall has already rejected, because even when Niall is at his most stern it is still like being savaged by a puppy.

“I’m wearing this, okay? Just, you know, avert your eyes for the evening, if it offends you that much.”

Niall smirks at him, and then reaches for his own bag, abandoned on the floor.

“No, because you are wearing something else. I got you something. Here.”

Harry peers into the bag suspiciously.

“What- ooh, okay, this is pretty cool.”

It’s a shirt, but a shirt which apparently isn’t  _ just a work shirt _ , or whatever Niall found so offensive about the rest of Harry’s closet, something about the collar is different, and it’s sheen and pretty or, he doesn’t know, maybe the…

“Niall, is this a women’s shirt?”

“What the fuck does it even matter if it looks good on you, just go put the damn thing on will you?”

…

The shirt looks good. Harry bites his lip, looking at himself in the bathroom mirror.

This is a thing, right? Men wear girls shirts sometimes. Harry is sure he remembers some of his university friends doing it. It doesn’t have to mean anything about…

There’s an abrupt bang on the door.

“Harry! Come on, we’re going to be late. You can weep tears of gratitude later…”

…

The plan is for him and Niall to make their way to the block that Louis and Stan live on, and then they’ll all travel together to the party as a group.

Niall chats mindlessly on the subway ride about his day and his family and his plan to make Stan his best friend, and Harry nods along, trying to make appropriate noises at appropriate points, because he  _ thinks  _ that he is going to have a good time tonight, but he  _ feels  _ a hell of a lot like he’s about to vomit.

In the space of what feels like a series of blinks, they’re rounding the corner, and that’s them, those two people are Louis and Stan, and  _ oh god oh god oh god. _

Niall swoops ahead, of course, practically skipping towards Stan and Louis. Harry lengthens his stride to try and keep up, but actual running would be unnecessary, particularly because it isn’t as if the two boys are rushing off anywhere. Niall halts before he collides, thankfully, and in three more seconds Harry is with them.

He looks automatically at Louis, who seems like a safe place to look, and Louis is grinning at him shyly.

“Hi.”

“Hi.”

Okay, now everyone appears to be doing a lot of grinning. Harry attempts to push things forward.

“Um, Louis, this is Niall, my school friend I was telling you about.”

Niall holds out a hand, but the moment transforms into cheek kissing, somehow.

“Harry’s under-selling me, of course. I’m his best friend, confidant, and life manager. It’s lovely to meet you. Although I feel like we’ve maybe…?”

Louis smiles at him, and nods, inexplicably.

“Yeah, I think we must have mutual friends, your face feels familiar.”

Niall grins, and then flicks at his hair vaguely.

“And I’m kind of unforgettable. That too.”

Louis laughs, glancing at Harry as if to say  _ yup, I approve. _

“Oh of course, you’ve been haunting my dreams.”

At this point Stan clears his throat pointedly, and glares at Niall in mock offense.

“And when are you going to fawn over me? I was given the impression that you were auditioning tonight for the role of my biggest fan.”

Niall reaches for his hand, and clasps it to his chest dramatically, and Harry has no idea how he does this, is instantly comfortable around complete strangers.

“Please forgive me; powerful men intimidate and arouse me in equal measure, and I was overwhelmed by your aura.”

Harry snorts slightly, as Stan eyes Niall incredulously for a second before cracking and laughing.

“Oh lord, you’re an eager one, I have to keep an eye on you, clearly. Though suggest that I smell again and I’ll rearrange your nose all over your face.”

Niall laughs in delight, but then Stan is looking at Harry, and Harry fights the instinct to gulp, nervous.

“And you are Harry… I feel like I already know you very well, the amount of times your name has been mentioned this past week…”

Louis mumbles Stan’s name in reproach, but Harry already stuck his hand out in greeting, determined to not appear socially inept.

“Hi, great to meet you- I was so impressed with your show, the other night.”

Stan snorts at the offered hand, and then pulls Harry into a hug.

“Oh I know cutie, I read your review, remember? I’m inclined to like you. Now, Niall, where is your one thousand words on my hilarious tendencies…?”

Stan indicates with a tip of his head that Niall should walk with him, and Niall falls into step with no hesitation whatsoever. Harry finds he can breath easier, hurdles crossed, and turns to Louis.

“Hi.”

Louis smiles.

“You’ve already said that.”

Dammit. Harry fumbles for something else to say.

“You look great.”

It’s not a courtesy, but rather a mere statement of fact; Louis is wearing a blue sweater and black jeans underneath his long coat, and has done something clever to his hair, making the fringe look messy and neat at the same time. Harry is grateful to Niall all over again, because although the shirt is nothing like what Louis is wearing, it feels on a similar level, somehow. Louis cocks his head, and looks down at Harry’s outfit.

“Thanks, so do you- I like this…”

Louis fingers reach for Harry’s collar, and tug slightly, apparently arranging it, and Harry fights to not blush, to just accept the compliment and move on. He propels his feet into action, and Louis follows suit, moving down the sidewalk after Stan and Niall.

“Oh, thanks, Niall bought it for me- late birthday gift, he claims. By about four months. Which tells you all you need to know about Niall, probably. “

“He has good taste.”

“Oh god, please don’t tell him that; I’ll never hear the end of it…”

…

The walk takes about five minutes. Harry couldn’t recall the conversation topics if he tried. He just knows that by the time he’s crossing the threshold of a stranger’s apartment, into a room full of strangers, he doesn’t feel his standard pulse of nerves. Instead he just feels incredibly light, like there’s a candle burning bright inside him.

Stan and Niall seem to create a lot of noise on entry, because  _ everyone  _ knows Stan, and a good handful of people seem to recognize Niall. Harry hides in the shadow of the reaction, wondering what happens next.

Louis shrugs out of his coat, and then takes Harry by the wrist, gentle.

“Come on, Stan will be occupied with showing off his new friend for a while, let’s get a drink and I’ll introduce you to some people.”

Louis' hand is warm, and Harry thinks that a drink sounds like an excellent idea.

…

It’s a whirlwind of meeting new people, drinks, dancing, small talk, and constantly keeping an eye out for Louis, just because Louis is the reason Harry is here, and so it makes  _ sense _ to check that he hasn’t been abandoned.

Louis stays close to him for the first hour or so, introducing and easing conversation, and generally being pretty wonderful, Harry tries to make a mental note to thank him at the end of the evening, because god knows this had the potential to be awkward, but Louis is just making the whole experience fun, somehow.

Harry can sense a room full of people weighing him up, somehow, but he doesn’t mind it, because Louis' easy laugh, combined with a couple of drinks, makes Harry feel that he is being approved of, by this room of strangers. Rubber stamped for appropriateness, inexplicably. Which feels awesome, because Harry thinks he’d like to be part of this group of friends.

This is  _ fun. _

When Louis starts to circulate in a wider circle, letting Harry do his own thing, Harry shares a drink with a couple of guys who apparently already know Niall, and then there’s a funny girl called Perrie, and some massive dude called James, and then Stan swoops back into sight, handing Harry another drink with a wink and an approving squeeze to the shoulder.

Harry had time for maybe two sips before Niall is back with him, grabbing his hand and raising it so he can twirl himself underneath it, in a move which has Harry laughing.

“Having fun Harry?”

“Yeah, bro, this is good, no? Thanks for coming! Oh, and thanks for the shirt- Louis says he likes it, so…”

Harry doesn’t know what the end to that sentence is, but as he looks over Niall’s shoulder to the rest of the room Louis is in his line of sight, and catches his eye. Louis is leaning towards a dark haired man with glasses, clearly trying to catch what he is saying over the music, but he is looking straight at Harry. After a second he smiles, and raises his eyebrows, and Harry forgets that he was even  _ trying  _ to communicate with Niall.

Niall, the little shit, snaps his fingers in front of his face after a moment, and Harry frowns, dragging his eyes back to him.

“What?”

“I said, don’t you think you are neglecting Louis a bit? You did come here with him, after all.”

Harry shrugs, taking another drink and making an effort to not look over at Louis again.

“I don’t want to crowd him though, I mean, he’s got loads of friends here, he doesn’t want to have to spend the entire night just looking after one.”

Niall gives him a look loaded with meanings that Harry cannot translate, but then Louis, speak of the devil, appears in front of them, taking Harry’s hand.

“Come on, I want to show you something. Niall, if you don’t mind?”

Niall holds up to hands like he’s in a hostage situation, although the grin on his face seems to be telling a different story.

“Oh, he’s all yours Louis.”

…

“Louis… are you sure we are even allowed out here…  _ shit,  _ it’s freezing.”

Louis laughs slightly, apparently at Harry’s discomfort, and takes several quick steps forward, out into the centre of the roof space.

“It’s a shared social space with another five apartments, Jade said, but no-one comes up here much in winter.”

Harry rubs his hands together rapidly, and then buries his hands in his jacket pocket, watching as Louis' words turn into puffs of condensation in the night air, disappearing almost instantly, as if they don’t matter at all.

“Yeah, well, no shit, can’t imagine why…”

Louis laughs, and then laughs again, somehow, as if there’s a second joke happening here that Harry hasn’t been made aware of. He then holds out his hand, and beckons Harry towards him.

“Look, just come here will you, I wanted to show you…”

Louis takes his hand, and tugs him around the corner of a free standing metallic box that Harry guesses is something to do with the air conditioning, and this is a far narrower strip, only about six feet wide. But the view is  _ spectacular _ , and Harry forgets the cold temporarily, too busy trying to take in the stretch of the Hudson and then the Manhattan skyline, lit up as ever, looming beyond it. Louis stretches a hand out towards the view, as if saying  _ told you so,  _ and Harry takes a hesitant step forward, leaning both elbows on the railing set back from the edge of the building by about four foot, and breathes out slowly. Louis comes over to him, after a second, and mirrors Harry’s actions, seemingly waiting for him to speak.

“Oh fuck… yeah, okay. Worth showing me, regardless of pneumonia.”

Louis snorts next to him, and takes one of Harry’s hands, and cups it between both of his own, lifting it to his mouth to blow warm air onto it.

“You seem very preoccupied with the cold; is it distracting you?”

Harry tries to ignore the way that his stomach appears to be performing a small pirouette, and instead focuses on his own words, disappearing as puffs of air.

“No, um, from what? The view? No, that’s pretty overwhelming, to be honest. It’s holding my attention.”

Louis smiles, and is still holding Harry’s hand really close to his mouth, and has time slowed down? Harry looks at him.

“Is anything else overwhelming?

Harry doesn’t know. He doesn’t know what to say, he doesn’t know what to do, he doesn’t know what is happening, he doesn’t know where he is, until Louis looks at his mouth, and Harry knows, about a half second before it happens, what is about to happen.

Louis kisses him.

Louis.

Louis is  _ kissing  _ him.

Harry registers, somehow, that Louis has released his hand, and is instead pulling slightly at Harry’s shirt collar, encouraging him closer. And Harry’s hand is just floating in midair, hovering near Louis' face as if to touch, but not fully mustering the courage.

It can only be five seconds. Of Harry parting his lips, and letting the kiss happen. But it feels…

Louis' lips are soft, and warmer than Harry’s, and it  _ burns. _

Oh,  _ fuck. _

“Hey, um, what?”

Louis is looking at him, and Harry realizes that his own body has decided to take a pretty big step back, away from Louis and his soft lips, and now Harry’s brain has to scramble to catch up.

“What, Harry?”

Harry gestures between the two of them.

“What… why were you… with the kissing? What’s that about?”

_ What’s that about? _ Harry struggles to not roll his eyes at himself, and instead focuses on not putting a foot wrong, because he feels very high up, all of a sudden.

Louis frowns at him slightly.

“Um, the kissing was about… kissing? I don’t understand, I thought it seemed to be going okay.”

Harry can see no way out that isn’t fraught with danger.

“Oh, um. It was. Going okay, I guess, but I’m not- I don’t really… um. You’re a boy. And um.”

Louis is just looking at him with these eyes, and Harry is getting no help, clearly.

“And I’m also a boy. Who is not gay.”

Louis' face does something really strange, as if for a split second he was about to laugh and then squashed the instinct down. Instead Louis just takes a step back, to lean on the metal box behind him, and looks away from Harry, out over the view.

“Oh. My mistake.”

But is it, really? Louis' mistake? Because Harry is performing a break-neck speed review of recent events, and maybe this is all Harry’s mistake, Harry’s misinterpretation, on reflection.

Oh,  _ shit. _

He really has to leave.

“Okay, well, I’d best be going, thanks for a fun night, I had fun, cool view, say thanks to the others for me, and say bye to Stan, and can you tell Niall I’ve left, he won’t want to leave yet, and I’m sorry, thanks, bye.”

Harry loses all punctuation, about half way through that garbled announcement, but at least now he’s done the bare minimum, at least now he can walk away, and find some space and air and a way to stop his mind reeling.

Harry doesn’t hear if Louis says anything in reply.


	6. Chapter Six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is part six. This is an AU, sparked by an anon prompt  
> Thank you for reading.

Niall’s having a great time.

He’s got a few mutual friends already in the room, because he and Louis already move in the same circles, obviously. (Obviously.) And the people who he didn’t already know are rapidly becoming his friends, because his  _ super power _ is socializing, and he is in his element.

_ And _ he is spending most of the evening hanging off Stan’s arm, who is showing him off like he is a new handbag, which he  _ loves,  _ he has always wanted to be objectified.

“Niall?”

“Stan?”

“Have you seen Louis anywhere?”

Niall flicks his hair out of his face, because he’s more than a little tipsy, and cocks his head towards the apartment door, indicating where he saw Louis and Harry last.

“About twenty minutes ago, Louis took Harry off through there. Said he had something to show him.”

Stan snorts, and takes a gulp of his drink, picking up a fistful of chips from an unattended bowl.

“Oh lord. That boy. The number of times he’s used the view from the roof space to move to the next level with someone.”

Niall laughs.

“Then why haven’t you taken me up there Stan? I’m offended.”

Stan levels him with a look.

“Because,  _ Niall _ , as darling as you are, I don’t want to  _ make out _ with you.”

Niall chokes slightly on his drink, and then applauds the notion vaguely.

“Oh bravo, Louis. Thank goodness he’s direct; if he was waiting for Harry to make a move things may have taken a while.”

Stan squints down at him, waving distractedly at someone who appears to be leaving the party.

“What, really? A little charmer like Harry; shy with the gentlemen? I can’t believe that.”

Niall nods, eager to clarify the situation to his new friend.

“Well, yes, shy with everyone. He’s straight, or at least laboring under the impression that he is straight, and has been blaming his lack of romantic interest on his work schedule. But  _ I’ve _ been thinking he maybe should be re-evaluating his sexuality for some time now, ever since high school, really. You should see how some boys react around him, but of course Harry’s completely oblivious. But I don’t want to rush him, obviously. Which is why Harry would never make the first move. And why I’m so thrilled that Louis knows how to get things moving – I’ve never seen Harry actually interested in someone before. Even if Harry himself seems to have no idea what is going on…”

Niall’s little speech stumbles to a halt, when he realizes that Stan is looking at him weirdly, and holding up a hand.

“Wait Niall, wait… is Harry okay with you saying all of this to me; a total stranger?”

Oh. Niall looks down at his feet, penitent. Alcohol  _ always  _ leaves him talking about things that he probably shouldn’t. Stan snorts, and places a heavy hand on top of his head, deliberately flattening his hair.

“Bad Niall. Don’t worry though, I don’t plan on mentioning it to Louis. Although… Harry is straight? Wow. Well, Louis' little roof top manoeuvre could go one of two ways, I guess…”

…

He’s not running away, exactly.

Harry fists his hands in his jacket pockets, trying to fight off the chill. A cab blares its horn, suddenly, startling Harry so badly he nearly jumps into a sign post. He swears, loudly, and a passing couple give him a nervous look, before giving him a wide berth, in case he has a breakdown right there on the sidewalk, and Harry feels like he is only millimetres away from it.

Niall is going to kill him. And there’s a whole other set of problems, which Harry can’t even begin to focus on, such as Niall’s questions, and the answers Harry is going to have to provide, and then the next set of questions that will follow Harry’s answers, and he hasn’t even checked his phone yet because he is secretly hoping that Louis will just never get in touch with him again, and  _ fuck. _

The subway entrance is just there, and Harry dives into it gratefully, because it is easier to hide, underground.

…

Stan is nervous, for a solid five minutes, after Niall’s little oversharing announcement of Harry’s sexuality and romantic history and general life story. Because it really could go one of two ways, up on the roof, but Stan isn’t sure how to respond even if it is a positive outcome. Because he’s been Louis' best friends for a good couple of years now, and has seen Louis stumble from one relationship meltdown to another, and how does he warn Louis away from another relationship built on a really insecure foundation?

Hell, why would he even keep it a secret? Why would Stan have loyalty to the (admittedly very pleasant) new friend of about four hours, over Louis, who is Stan’s  _ Louis,  _ for god’s sake?

And this is even with him considering the good outcome, which is Harry and Louis emerging from the rooftop, hand in hand, and smiling. Stan is trying not to consider what the bad outcome is, for fear of jinxing it, but the good outcome seems less and less likely, the more he considers it, with every passing minute.

And the Niall kid seems completely blasé, about the entire thing, so it is just Stan, frantically worrying himself into his own private whirlwind, while trying to appear like he is still having a good time on the outside.

Thankfully, it is only the five minutes of internal worry, before Stan has some answers, and a clear idea of what happens next.

Louis re-enters the party, alone, and Stan can tell that he’s frazzled because he forgets to take his coat off, instead scans the busy, distracted room for Niall, gamely walking over to him and leaning to whisper in his ear. Stan picks up his drink, and presents himself by Louis' elbow, just in time to hear Niall’s reaction.

“Oh lord, that boy is such a bore; of course he bails early from the party. Do you know why he is leaving?”

Niall is the worst actor, and Stan sees right through the not so innocent enquiry, but Louis is too distracted to notice.

“No, not really. He said to tell you though.”

Niall clucks his tongue at the situation, and then stands, looking over Louis' shoulder towards the door.

“I’ll go catch him up, he can’t have gotten far. He’s probably decided that he doesn’t want to outstay his welcome, he does that a lot.”

Louis clears his throat, awkwardly.

“Um, well, you might not. He’s been gone about ten minutes, maybe; I, um, got distracted.”

Stan decides that this is the point where he enters the conversation.

“You should probably go anyway, Niall, huh? Check that Harry is okay- he wasn’t looking too well. Was he Louis? Do you not think?  Kinda peaky.”

Louis blinks at him, and Stan can just make out where Louis' lips are swollen, ever so slightly.

“Um, yeah, I guess. He was complaining about the cold.”

Niall stands slowly, and stretches, glancing around the room.

“Okay, well, let me just catch Luke for a second, I told him that…”

Stan takes Niall by the arm, and gently escorts Niall towards the front door.

“Niall, you are cute and all, and your crazy little laugh and perky demeanour have been a real asset to my evening, so I’m telling you this as a friend; you appear to forget how to be a supportive friend when you’ve had a few drinks and are over-stimulated. Go at least  _ try  _ and catch up with Harry, or call him, or something, Harry is probably having a very private freak out right now, because I’m willing to bet my goddamn career that Louis has just  _ kissed him, and Harry has just run away. _ Think about that sentence, for a second, will you?”

By the end of Stan’s announcement he has managed to get Niall into his jacket, and Niall blinks at him owlishly for a moment. Stan internally crosses everything, because he does  _ like _ Niall, and he doesn’t want him to turn out to be a useless friend.

Realization dawns across Niall’s face, not so much like a sunrise, but rather the moment someone spots a tsunami, clouding up the horizon.

“ _ Oh,  _ lord.”

Stan nods, encouragingly.

“Yeah, Niall. So you just run along, and see what you can do, because I’m reliably informed that this sort of revelation is hard enough when you are an adolescent, and if my admittedly not very finely tuned gaydar is anything to go by, Harry’s going to be having a lot of revelations, over the next few however long it takes.”

Niall flings his arms around Stan’s neck, at this point, and Stan snorts, trying to push him away. Niall clings tight.

“You must think I’m  _ awful _ .”

Stan pinches at his sides, and that seems to do the trick, Niall yelps and releases.

“Nope, bro, just forgetful, and easily distracted. Now run along Niall.”

Niall kisses him on the cheek once, and waves quickly at the rest of the room, where thankfully it would seem that nobody is paying them much attention. He then dashes out of the door, with Stan smacking him on the butt for good measure on the way out.

“Bye Stan! Remember that we’re going to be best friends, okay?”

Stan closes the door quietly behind him, and turns back to the party, stretching a hand out to lean on a wall for support.

He’d like to be friends with Niall.  _ Best  _ friends seems a little presumptuous, honestly, because there is such a thing as playing hard to get, but Niall seems fun. He’s his sort of person.

But Stan knows, for a  _ fact, _ that whatever happens next in the Stan/Niall storyline depends entirely on how Louis reacts to Harry’s evasive action.

He wanders through to the kitchen, where Louis is there, filling up a tumbler of water from the refrigerator. Louis meets his eyes once, before looking away to drain the glass, but Stan knows that Louis knows that Stan already knows, and that’s an incomprehensible thought, but that’s how friendships work, isn’t it? 

Louis puts the glass down on the counter.

“Half an hour more Stan, so things don’t look weird. And then we’re bailing, okay?”

Stan doesn’t need telling twice.

…

Niall tries about forty seven  _ thousand  _ times to call Harry, on his walk to the subway stations.

He’s kind of relieved that he doesn’t pick up, in a weird way, because he doesn’t know which line to take. Play dumb and be irritated that he left a party without him?

Play dumb and be concerned that he left a party without him?

Play dumb and be concerned that Harry has decided to be wildly rude to him and Niall’s new friends for no reason whatsoever?

Reveal the depth of his knowledge and be concerned that he left the party after a cute boy kissed him and how is his personal identity coping with this new possible variable in his sense of self?

Reveal the depth of his knowledge and be irritated that he left the party after a cute boy kissed him and  _ how many times has Niall told him to get his butt together and start dating someone, anyone, for godssake? _

He doesn’t know.

As he approaches the subway entrance, he gets one message from Harry.

_ I’m fine. Not now, please, Niall. _

He frowns at his screen for a long time, because he is irritated, to be honest, although he is trying to repress the impulse. Because he could be calling because  _ he  _ needs help or support or friendship powers, or whatever.

So he waits, by the entrance to the station, and thumbs out a quick message that seems to accurately sum up all of his reactions into one neat phrase. He then pockets his phone, and jogs down the steps, heading for home.

…

Louis feels like a fucking  _ idiot. _

Except he doesn’t, because after checking, and double checking, Louis thinks that he was making it pretty clear what page he was on, from all the communication that him and Harry participated on, over the past week or so. Asides from turning up tonight wearing a t-shirt which said  _ hi Harry, I am actively considering you as a romantic prospect, please let me know that I have the wrong end of the stick  _ before  _ I try and kiss you, _ Louis doesn’t really know how he could have made it any clearer.

He sighs to himself, and re-crosses his legs in front of himself, blocking the entire subway car walkway with his limbs, but finding that he doesn’t care. (Which he does, he obviously does, if anyone tried to walk past he’d automatically fold in on himself out of hyper politeness, like one of those sea urchin things, the ones that disappear abruptly through self-protection? Are they sea urchins or sea anemones?) Whatever.

Stan’s looking at him, from across the way. Louis rolls his eyes, and flips him off. Stan snorts, and looks around the car, clearly checking for people who could potentially take an interest in whatever he says next.

“Two more stops and then we’re home. And we’ll talk about it there.”

 Louis shrugs, and inspects his nails.

“Nothing to talk about Stan. You already know what happened. Straight-guys. The worst. And I didn’t spot it before making a tit of myself.”

Stan laughs quietly, and then just looks at Louis, and Louis doesn’t like it when Stan looks at him like that, Stan is too good at spotting the things that Louis is trying to hide.

He doesn’t say anything though, just switches focus after a second, pointlessly looking up at the subway map after a second.

“Harry didn’t seem much like a straight guy from where I was standing Louis…”

Louis shrugs, because nope, he’s not a complete moron, Harry must have been giving off some kind of vibe for Louis to react to. He doesn’t pursue it though, because he decides abruptly that he hasn’t got the energy for this.

“Straight guys  _ masquerading _ as gay guys. Even worse.”

Stan doesn’t say anything in response, and Louis can tell that he is just biding his time, but Louis is okay with that.  As long as he doesn’t have to talk about anything  _ now, _ he’ll take the coming interrogation in the morning.

…

Before getting into bed that night, Harry checks his phone once.

There’s one message. From Niall.

_ Harry. What the fuck? _

He couldn’t have put it better himself.

So he turns onto his side, pulls the comforter (ha) up over his head, and tries to sleep.

…


	7. Chapter Seven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (So, this is posted early, mainly because SOMEONE thinks that she can predict my post schedule, and I am trying to keep her on her toes)
> 
> Ahem. Part Seven. This is all lies. Larry. An AU from a prompt by an anon who I hope is pleased with themselves.
> 
> Thank you for reading.

Louis wakes up in a foul mood.

Partly because of what happened last night, but mainly because he is in a bad mood over what happened last night. Because he  _ doesn’t let things like this get to him. _

So Harry turns out to be straight. Whatever. Plenty more actually gay guys who are also fish in the homosea.

Louis sits up, and fumbles for his robe, which he habitually leaves on the corner of his bed. He stands, arranging his sleep shirt slightly, and slips it on, trudging out into the living space with the robe hanging loose.

Stan is out here, sitting at the breakfast bar, looking far more ready to face the day than Louis feels, but Louis thinks that there are probably small piles of trash that feel more ready to face the day than he does, so that isn’t saying much.

Tipping his glasses towards Louis in greeting, Stan slides a mug of coffee over the counter, and Louis grunts in appreciation, perching on the edge of a stool and cradling the warm china in both hands. It is still too hot to sip, really, but Louis does so anyway, enjoying the way that the pain forces him to wake up a bit.

Stan’s doing a crossword. Which is weird, because Stan never does crosswords, but Louis goes with it because on his twenty four hour weirdness scale this barely registers. Clicking the pen a few times, Stan gestures at the crossword.

“Four letters. Phrase to describe Harry’s sexuality.  _ What the… _ ”

Louis snorts, and then groans, pressing his fingers to his forehead as he remembers the startled look in Harry’s eyes, something that Louis hasn’t seen since the very early days, when he was just fine-tuning his gaydar so that he stopped confusing friendship with something else. He breathes out the word lowly.

“ _ Fuck _ ?”

Stan raises his eyebrows at Louis, and Louis giggles after a second, before looking away, stretching his toes out on the cool tiled floor.

“S, you aren’t helping you know.”

“Oh please… this is exactly the sort of moment in which you need a sassy friend to talk shit and make you laugh. No doubt Harry will be having some sort of enforced counselling session from Niall, whether he likes it or not.”

Louis grunts vaguely, and shrugs, because he really doesn’t want to think about Harry waking up on the other side of Brooklyn, almost certainly crabby and convinced that Louis is some kind of predatory gay.

“Oh well. Pretty embarrassing mistake on my part. That’s why I keep saying that there should be some kind of secret gay handshake, to avoid confusion. At least Harry made things crystal clear when he ran away from me. No mixing of that message.”

Getting up from the stool, Louis opens up the fridge, inspecting the contents in the hope that some kind of fruit smoothie will materialize. He can feel Stan watching him, but ignores it as best he can, pulling out an apple and biting into it, hard.

When he turns back, Stan is still looking at him. Louis chews a couple of times, swallows, and then shrugs.

“What?”

“It has been, according to you, a long time since you have been wrong about whether or not a boy is into you.”

Louis doesn’t think he likes where this is going, but can’t really see how to stop the conversation, and so just shrugs.

“So?”

“So…” Stan clears his throat briefly, as if wondering how to ask. “You’ve seemed pretty excited about Harry, this past week. There’s been lots of texts flying back and forward, and you actually asked me whether I thought you looked good, before we left the house last night, which you never do because usually your ego is an impenetrable force field…”

Louis flips him off good naturedly, knowing that this is nowhere near the end.

“And so, I, your best friend, was wondering whether it is possible that it isn’t you who has been- what did Niall say? Oh, yes, laboring under a false impression, but rather Harry. Because Harry sure as hell doesn’t seem straight to me either, and I’m hardly an expert in this field. These weren’t subtle signals that Harry was giving off.”

Shrugging, because sometimes there  _ is _ such a thing as too soon, Louis deflects.

“Whatever. He said he was straight. That’s enough for me. I’m not getting involved in anything like that, thank you.”

Stan taps on the side of the counter with his pen, looking down at the crossword absently, like that is the real puzzle here.

“What actually happened, up on the roof?”

Louis sighs, but he might as get this out of the way sooner rather than later. Ripping off a bandaid, that sort of logic.

“Well… I was showing him the view, cause, you know, it’s nice.”

Stan rolls his eyes.

“Sure.  _ Nice _ . Not your standard signature move on how to woo a guy  _ at all _ .”

Louis glares at him for a bit, to little effect, and then carries on.

“Well, yes, whatever, so then he was looking at the view, and then we said a few things, and then I tried to kiss him, and he jumped backwards, announced allegiance to the planet straight, and then exited stage left. The end.”

Stan takes a steady sip of his coffee, never taking his eyes from Louis, and Louis fidgets under the inspection.

“You know that I know when you are lying, Louis? Your lips looked swollen, when you came back into the party. So unless you went in for the kiss, Harry jumped backwards, and your trajectory resulted in you unintentionally making out with a wall for a bit, then I don’t see how…”

Louis snorts, and then flaps his hands once at Mamrie, dismissive.

“Okay, so fine, we maybe kissed for like five seconds, or something. Or, I guess I kissed him, and he didn’t pull out the mace. But  _ then _ he jumped backwards, and then blah blah.”

Stan raises his gaze, to look at the ceiling for a silent moment, and Louis tries not to ask, but fails.

“What?”

“I’m just… I was just counting out five seconds in my head. That’s not a short amount of time Lou. If he was repelled by you, you’d have been lucky to get to half a second.”

Shrugging, Louis picks his up coffee again, and takes a swig, even though it is still too hot and really doesn’t go with apple, but something about this entire conversation is making him nervous.

“Well, whatever. He was just being polite, or something. And he hasn’t been in touch, so clearly that is that. Please don’t do your usual extrapolation of all the possible ifs and whys S, I just want to forget about it. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to shower…”

It’s a good exit line, and Louis is pleased with himself. He gets all the way to the bathroom door before Stan calls after him.

“Are you taking that apple into the shower with you, Tommo?”

Dammit. Louis unceremoniously drops the apple onto the coffee table, and glares over his shoulder at Stan.

“Shut up.”

Louis can hear Stan chuckling as he closes the door behind him, but thankfully the shower is loud enough to drown out everything (except his thoughts).

…

Harry wakes up.

And decides that he is going to have a normal day. Doing normal things.

He gets in the shower.

He gets out of the shower.

He puts on the sort of clothes that he normally wears over a weekend (jeans and a sweater), and rubs the towel through his hair, hoping for, if not his normal style, then at least something vaguely presentable.

His phone is sitting on his bedside table. Harry tells himself that he is ignoring it. And then checks it two seconds later.

Nothing. See? Everything is normal.

He didn’t answer Niall’s  _ what the fuck _ message last night. Mainly because all Harry was capable of thinking in that moment was  _ what the fuck?  _ In really big font, flaring across his mind’s eye.

He doesn’t want to think about it, right now. He’s having a normal day.

He sure as hell doesn’t want the conversation that Harry knows Niall will be itching to have with him right now. The one about Harry’s sexuality.

Harry checks his reflection in the mirror, and then decides that he’s going for a walk. Or a run. Or a something.

And then, as he is exiting his building, Harry realizes he’s going to do none of those things. Instead he’s going to eat as much comfort food as his body can take.

…

It’s been around six months, since Niall’s last enforced discussion about why he felt it was imperative that Harry decided he was gay.

These conversations always happen when Niall is drunk, so that he forgets how to not say everything in his head, and Harry is drunk, so he forgets how to shut down the conversation unscathed.

Harry doesn’t want to have to do a conversation sober. No one wants that. And Harry is about eighty percent sure that Louis will have made it clear to Niall what happened up on the roof, because Louis will have been pissed off. Why wouldn’t he? And even if Louis didn’t, then Niall will have figured it out, because that boy  _ knew  _ Louis was gay, he  _ knew  _ what was going on, and just let Harry blindly stumble towards the problem for his own amusement, the little shit.

Harry thinks it is a very good idea that him and Niall do not speak today, because when Harry has finished processing his emotions, he might turn out to be very angry with Niall, and that isn’t going to be very helpful.

He feels very alone, all of a sudden. New York is a big city, and Harry can’t think of anyone who he can actually speak to about this, face to face. A phone call home is out of the question, because Harry hates phone calls; face to face is so much easier.

This thought process takes him down to the store on the corner, and through the aisle, hunting out a breakfast cereal tailor-made to this specific problem. Apparently the cereal industry have let him down though, and Harry ends up choosing Cheerios, just because the irony appeals to him.

He drops half his coins at the register, and mumbles swear words to himself, crouching on the floor and scooping up the stray dimes as quickly as possible. Someone crouches next to Harry to help him, and Harry glances once gratefully, before realizing that he recognizes this boy vaguely, and so has to say something.

“Oh, um, thanks.”

“No problem.”

Harry concentrates on paying the impatient store employee, and then bags up his groceries, as the dark haired boy who helped him hands over a handful of change for his milk. They both start walking at the same time, so it makes sense to at least acknowledge the coincidence.

“You live in my block, don’t you?”

The boy nods, screwing up his receipt and pitching it into the trash can just outside the store’s entrance.

“Yeah, a few floors above; you live with Zayn and the guys, don’t you? I get coffee with Zayn now and then- he mentioned that they had a new roommate.”

Harry nods, relieved that he isn’t dreaming the memory.

“Right – I’ve seen you a few times in the foyer. Kept meaning to say hi, but, you know.”

The guy shrugs, as if he fully understands how life and social pressures get in the way of even the most basic of human interaction.

“Oh, I know. Sometimes I barely manage to have time to see myself in the mirror, during the week, let alone actually speak to other humans.”

Harry smiles at the idea, and then clears his throat.

“All human interaction should be saved for the weekend. I’m Harry, by the way.”

“Hi. Nice to meet you. I’m Nick.”

Harry wants to offer a handshake, but has got a grocery bag under each arm, and so ends up jutting out an elbow, like a moron. Nick seems to catch his meaning though, and raises a hand with a smile, grabbing on to Harry’s elbow gently and waggling it up and down a few times. Harry snorts in amusement, and Nick grins.

“Human contact achieved!”

Harry laughs despite himself.

“Yeah! I’d offer a high-five, but I’m at a significant disadvantage…”

Nick nods to himself, smiling at Harry’s ineptitude.

“Appreciated, nevertheless…”

…

The route back to their block takes about five minutes, and it is a solid five minutes of Harry feeling completely normal, which he appreciates.

They share the elevator up together, and indulge in the standard conversation about what a luxury it is to have a working elevator, do you remember those two weeks when it was out of service, how did their legs even survive, etc etc.

There’s a contented pause, while the elevator shudders into action, and then Nick nods at Harry’s grocery bags, which he is still clutching to his chest.

“Planning a big Sunday, or…?”

Harry looks down at his bags, at the products poking out of the top, and yes, it does look like a disaster scene. There’s the chocolate Cheerios, and then the three rolls of Oreos, and the two sharing bags of chips and dips, and that’s even without looking further, and finding the three types of cheese, lurking at the bottom. Harry rolls his eyes at himself, eased into honesty by Nick’s straight-forward manner.

“I… no. Even though it does look like I’m catering for some kind of teenaged sleepover. This is just… the after effect of a really bad Saturday night, and a pretty terrible Sunday morning.”

Nick nods simply.

“Sometimes food comas are the only logical response.”

Harry shrugs, watching the light indicating the floor rise higher and higher, sort of wishing it would slow down.

Nick clears his throat after a second.

“Sucky Saturday nights are pretty common-place, I’d say, in this city. Terrible Sunday mornings are harder to achieve though…”

It could just be left there, Harry could just nod in response to that excellent piece of human wisdom. He doesn’t though, because self-help is a positive thing, he’s read.

“My terrible Sunday morning is born from the realization that I have no-one in this goddamn city to talk to about how crappy last night was, for one reason and another.”

Nick puffs out his bottom lip in sympathy, but now it is Harry’s floor, it is time to go and drown himself in Cheerios and have the volume in his earphones turned up really loud so that he can’t hear anything else.

“It was nice to meet you Nick...”

Harry’s already stepped out of the elevator when Nick calls after him.

“Wait, Harry…”

Harry turns, and Nick is leaning out of the shaft, pressing a hand to the door to stop it closing. Nick frowns, and then shrugs.

“It’s no worries if you are just after alone time, but if you wanted someone to talk to… you could come up to mine. I’m alone today, and probably pretty bored, so, you know- if you wanted to?”

Harry shuffles on his feet for a moment, shy, but god knows hiding in his room for the whole day never really sounded that appealing in the first place, but instead just the only available option.

So he takes an awkward step forward, and then halts, mock suspicious.

“Wait… is this just a cunning rouse to get your hands on my Oreos? Because I see right through you.”

Nick laughs, and shrugs his shoulders.

“Oops. Busted. Although I do have milk for your Cheerios – something which you seem to have forgotten.”

Harry looks down at his bags, and nope, he can’t argue with that. So he grins, and steps back into the elevator.

“Fine. Clearly this is some kind of destiny.”

Nick snorts, and presses the button, sending them upwards again.

“Let’s not put too much pressure on the moment, huh? I’m just after a share of your junk food…”

Harry grins again, at nothing, and hopes for a better Sunday afternoon.


	8. Chapter Eight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hello. This is part eight. This is completely AU, based on a prompt that you can find on part one.  
> Larry. All lies.  
> Thank you for reading, kudosing, commenting, etc.

Niall wakes up, lying on his stomach with his head propped up on his forearm. Which is a position he never usually sleeps in, because it just seems to result in a whole world of  _ ow. _

Oh jesus. He might have dislocated every single bone in his body. He might be paralyzed, and die here, because nobody thought of checking on him. And  _ oh god _ then everyone will know about his Sponge Bob pyjamas, and this is not acceptable attire to die in.

Eventually, which much groaning and body contortions, Niall levers himself upright, and blinks blearily at his surroundings.

He had a fun night last night. There were at  _ least  _ five people at that house party who Niall already knew, one way or another, and that made the entire evening entirely pleasant, because if people already  _ know _ that he is fabulous generally, it makes it a hell of a lot easier to convince them that he is also fabulous in that moment as well. And he’d been drinking something delicious, and he and Stan had kicked it off right away, and frankly he is surprised that he is not waking up in his arms, after a night of friendship based passion, why on earth did he leave so early in the first place….

Oh.

Niall lets the wave of memory wash over him, and then checks his phone.

Harry still hasn’t messaged him back. And sure, maybe he is being ninety percent nosy, but he is also just trying to check that he is okay, and alive. He’ll repress the forensic examination of Harry’s feelings and actions towards Louis until he is sure that Harry’s head isn’t going to explode, and only  _ then _ bust out his cape with the words  _ I told you so  _ written on the back. Because he isn’t entirely insensitive.

He opens up a new message.

_ Harry? At least respond to me. God it is like talking to a goddamn coma victim with you, sometimes. SAY SOMETHING HAZZA. BLINK TWICE IF YOU CAN HEAR ME. _

Niall re-inspects his message, pulls a face, and feels the need to add something.

_ No I am not still drunk. Just concerned and trying to be supportive. Any opportunity to do that gratefully received. _

He waits for a little while, watching the traffic pass, far below his window. The weather is vile, and Niall makes the entirely sensible decision that he will not be going outside today.

After ten minutes, he stands, stretches, and heads to see whether the breakfast fairy has decided to bless him with some food, this morning.

Half way over to the fridge, he remembers that he made Stan write down his number, on a piece of paper, and he has a feeling that he thrust it into his jacket pocket, and forgot about it. He makes a detour towards the hall way to go and check.

…

This is not how Nick had anticipated his Sunday afternoon going.

He doesn’t mind it though. His boyfriend Nicco is out of town for the weekend, and Nick has rather found himself at a loose end for the entire day. And there’s a limit, he finds, to how much he appreciates his own company.

Which is why he has an almost complete stranger on his couch. Nicco will laugh at him for this later, when he explains, because he’s always doing this, inviting vague acquaintances in for no real reason other than because he’s just baked some cookies, or similar. But Nick knows that he’s never going to find any real community spirit in Brooklyn unless he goes out and damn well finds some.

Harry had looked really nervous for the first few minutes of his visit, and Nick had actually had to point at which end of the couch Harry should sit in, because the choice of two had looked close to overwhelming Harry. A cup of tea and a few Oreos in and things seem a lot easier, now.

They watch a rerun of a Harry Potter movie with no focus at all, and Nick talks about his work, and appreciates that Harry tries his very best to ask interested sounding questions about his field.

“So, uh, what does a museum curator actually do?”

Nick snorts, and shrugs.

“Checks the artefacts don’t run off, I guess. No I’m just training, to be honest, there is a bit of funding attached to it, but not much. So my actual job is probably being a server at Subway – night shift for added glamor.”

Harry grins at him, and pops another cookie in his mouth, speaking around it.

“Oh, cool, I can ask informed questions about that. What’s your opinion on ranch dressing?”

“It is an abomination.”

Harry giggles and claps his hands together.

“I knew it.”

Nick leans forward to reach a chip, and Harry nudges the bag closer, as if trying to be helpful, though the gesture is entirely unnecessary.

“What do you do?”

Harry shrugs.

“Bore myself mindless in front of a computer screen all day. I’m a copywriter. It’s- well. I love Japanese, and it’s a job that allows me to use that. I’m thinking of trying to move into journalism though; however at the moment I’ve only written one article, and showed it to a grand total of three people, so you know. The transition isn’t fully complete, yet.”

Nick nods understandingly, because chasing dreams is hard, sometimes, he knows that. Harry doesn’t seem to want to pursue the conversation though, and waves a hand around, at the walls of Nick’s apartment.

“Nice place by the way. Do you live here by yourself?”

Nick shakes his head, laughing out the first part of the answer.

“Oh gosh no, I couldn’t afford this by myself on my take home. No, I live with my boyfriend, Nicco, but he’s out of town, some high school reunion thing that I couldn’t bring myself to participate in. We’ve been sharing for the past six months or so.”

Harry nods, and then nods again, and then laughs in what sounds like relief, and rubs his hand over his forehead.

“Oh man, this is going to sound crazy, but after my weekend, I’ve never been so grateful to have someone clear up their relationship status in such a simple manner.”

Harry’s right, it does sound a bit crazy, but Nick figures that he invited Harry in because he was hoping for entertainment. He clasps his hands underneath his chin, and tilts his head towards Harry.

“Is this the moment when you tell me all about your weekend? Because the chips and dips are fun, and everything, but…”

Nick leaves the question dangling, and waits, to see if Harry accepts the offer. Which he does, after a pause, and a glance towards Nick, as if he is performing a final assessment of whether to trust Nick with this part of his life.

“Oh god, this is all going to sound  _ very _ high school. But…”

…

Stan decides that he is actually going to attempt that damn crossword, after giving Louis a couple of hours to emerge from his room. Who knows, that boy is probably sitting on the edge of his bed, still wrapped in a towel, having lost himself in a vortex of old Degrassi episodes or whatever the hell he gets up to. What’s that show he’s all invested in at the moment? Modern Family? Whatever.

Three down. The Roman god of Fire. Six letters.

There’s a reason Stan doesn’t do crosswords, he decides, after a moment’s reflection. And it isn’t because he is stupid. It is because he doesn’t understand what possible context could require him to ever know what the Roman god of fire is, other than another crossword. And what is the point of cluttering up his brain with useless trivia?

His phone chimes, next to him, and Stan swipes a finger across the screen, grateful for the distraction. It’s Niall, delivering a message in three parts.

_ Hi Stan, I had a great time last night. Just checking in to say that I’m almost certain that Harry has forgotten all of his manners, and so I would like to say, on behalf of him, that he also had a great time, up until the point when Louis did the thing which made his brain short circuit. While on the subject of Louis, please ask him to bear with Harry for the moment, until I’ve figured out how to get him to function again. Because I’m sure Harry likes him, I’m sure! _

Stan snorts, and then looks over his shoulder automatically, as if Louis could have possibly snuck out of his room and be standing behind Stan, reading without him noticing.

_ Niall, is this you being a good and useful friend, or is this you interfering again? _

The answer comes back within seconds.

_ Oh Stan, you surprise me. I thought that you would understand that sometimes those two options are one and the same. _

God, he’s a sassy little thing. Stan grunts in approval, and tucks his phone into his sweater pocket.

Louis could be hours. It’s time to get productive.

Maybe there’s a re-run of The New Normal that he hasn’t seen four times already that he can watch.

…

Nick struggles to keep his face blank, because he doesn’t really know how to play this. He goes for default bafflement.

“And you… you had no idea that Louis thought he was flirting with you? That this technically could have been seen as a date?”

Harry shrugs, looking at his knees. He then tucks himself up, so he is just hugging his knees, and, well. Nick is not expert at body language, but…

“I mean, it happens, boys get confused all the time about whether a boy is just being friendly or actually flirting, you don’t have to feel too bad about this, I don’t think.”

Harry glances over to him once, and then looks away, at the screen where Harry seems to be fighting a dragon.

“I don’t know. I just… I think I liked the attention. I didn’t think too hard about what  _ kind  _ of attention it was. On reflection, it should have been pretty obvious, maybe. Particularly because Niall was prancing around like a goddamn pride parade for the entire week.”

“Who’s Niall?”

“My friend. He thinks…well, every now and then he has a drunken moment when he tries to convince me that I’m gay. Which is just…”

Nick frowns, because this is getting a bit up close and personal, but maybe up close and personal is easier, when it is with an almost stranger.

“Why does he think you are gay?”

Harry waves at hand around vaguely, at himself.

“Because, I don’t know, he talks about the clothes I wear a lot, but that’s just, whatever, you know. Clothes are no indication of sexuality.”

Nick nods, agreeing, but Harry carries on.

“And I guess, I mean, my love life is a bit of a wasteland. A couple of crappy girls. And nothing for a few years now, but that’s because I’m not interested in anyone. You know? Sometimes work has to take priority, because dating and romance and whatever just seems to take up a hell of a lot of time for not much pay off.”

Nick scrunches his face up, because yes, getting together with Nicco had taken up a hell of a lot of his time, but he’d enjoyed every second of it, and the pay off had felt well worth it.  _ Feels _ well worth it.

This, however, is not a line to pursue right now. Instead he saves those questions for another time, in case Harry turns up on his couch again, and changes tack.

“You liked hanging out with Louis though. Regardless of sexuality and whatever Louis thought was happening – you enjoyed spending time with him? You like him as a person.”

Harry shrugs, but then grins wide.

“Yeah, I mean, he’s funny. He does stand up, but I’ve never actually seen him do a show, but I think he must be great; he’s just really positive and awkward and amusing, all at once.”

Nick refuses to say the obvious, although he is biting his tongue hard. Instead he says, “okay, well, that makes things a bit simpler. You don’t want him to think you are a terrible person, do you?”

Harry frowns, and blinks rapidly.

“No. Definitely not. He’s, I mean. I think I do really like him. I just…”

Harry trails off, and then frowns at himself, looking confused. Nick shrugs, reaching for another chip, because giving the illusion of casualness feels really important to this conversation, somehow.

“Then you should get in touch. And say something, at least. Something like an apology and how you were just surprised and you recognize that you probably didn’t react in the best way. Because if I was Louis, and I was thinking that you were a possible date, and I took you to meet all my friends and then tried to engineer a really romantic first kiss, I’d probably be feeling a little crappy, right now.”

Harry looks positively startled, and Nick struggles not to laugh.

“But, but, surely he must understand why I, you know, felt a bit weird?”

“Probably, given a bit of time, he’ll get it, but in the immediate impact it is probably pretty hard to do the whole wearing of someone else’s shoes. You don’t really want to let any possible resentment bed in, if you are still hoping to be friends with Louis and his friend.”

Harry leaps to his feet, looking panicked, and pats himself down, locating his phone.

“Oh god, you’re right, I should message him or something… wait, what should I say?”

Nick shrugs, because he doesn’t want to get too involved in this, for goodness sake. Amused spectator, is about the limit he is willing to reach, at this point.

“Calm down Harry; and sit down. Think about it for five minutes, I’m sure you’ll figure something out.”

…

Louis isn’t moping.

He’s not.

It’s just, sometimes Sundays are meant to be spent holed up in a bedroom, watching re-runs of Gossip Girl.

_ What? _

So it turns out that Stan is correct. Louis does have a massive ego, and it sure as hell doesn’t like rejection.

Because he does like Harry. He is cute, and earnest, and a bit different, and far more courteous than some of the boys that Louis has experienced, and charming, and intelligent, and easy to talk to, and all that good stuff.

It’s just that he is also straight, apparently. Despite outward appearances.

Louis has had one experience of dating someone who turned out to be straight. That wasn’t much fun.

And so Louis sits in his room, with his macbook on his lap, and watches old television shows, because it turns out that Louis feel a little bit like a giant idiot, when he gets rejected.

Harry hasn’t been in touch. Probably for the best.

Louis looks at his phone, on the side table, and then remembers that he doesn’t care, he isn’t really bothered one way or another.

And then his phone lights up, and Louis nearly throws himself off the bed with his sudden dart to reach it.

It’s Harry. Louis sets his phasers to  _ whatever _ , and opens the email.

_ Hey Louis. So it turns out that I’m an idiot, and really rude, when I’m surprised. I’m sorry I left last night, there were a million ways I could have dealt with that, and I think I chose the worst. _

_ I had a really good time last night. I enjoyed meeting your friends. I enjoyed hanging out with you. I enjoyed the view from the roof. _

_ I like spending time with you. I want to do more of it. And, I guess, I know now why you want to spend time with me. And I can’t say anything meaningful in response, right now, other than in general, I don’t seem to like spending time with anyone, really, at the moment. And then there’s you. _

_ I understand if you want to ignore this, though. I behaved pretty badly. But what you think of me seems to matter a hell of a lot, for someone I’ve only known for a week and a bit. So, I hope you understand, at least. _

Louis re-reads it.

And then re-reads it.

And then realizes that he has a decision to make, at this point, doesn’t he?

…


	9. Chapter Nine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is part nine.   
> Larry. All lies. This is an AU, based on an anon prompt that you can find on part one.

So, power naps are a thing. Good for the soul, on a Sunday.

This was supposed to be a day of Stan writing some new material, or at least pretending to write some new material. The problem is, that he finds it really hard to write when he is by himself, because he has no one to bounce ideas off and test run the jokes on, and Louis is still being a teenager in his room.

So instead he’s kind of napping on the couch. Not in a,  _ completely unconscious, _ manner. Just in a,  _ eyes closed, but brain still functioning _ , kind of style. He’s going to spring into action any minute now.

Any minute.

Stan jumps slightly, when he hears the door click behind him, and blinks rapidly, trying to give the impression of full alertness. Louis comes up behind him, and the next thing Stan knows is that Louis is leaning over him, taking the television remote out of Stan’s prone hand and muting the screen.

“Hey… I was watching that Tommo.”

Louis snorts at him, and mumbles something about being able to hear Stan’s snores through the wall, which is a complete lie, for the record. He then clears his throat, and Stan’s sitting up, noticing a change in Louis' demeanour.

“Do you want a coffee? I need you awake.”

Stan stretches, and looks up at Louis, curiously.

“Why do I get the impression that even if I decline I will be force fed coffee by you regardless?”

Louis shrugs.

“Harry messaged.”

Stan struggles to not react.

“And?”

Louis shrugs again, looking away from Stan, over towards their kitchen.

“And… and I don’t know. I’d appreciate some best friend input, if that isn’t too much to ask.”

Stan stands up, wrapping Louis up in a hug and kissing him firmly on the cheek, as Louis tries to wriggle away.

“Of course not darling. Tell your Auntie Stan everything, and in return I’ll explain to you how sex works again, I know you tend to forget…”

“God, I don’t know why I involve you in my love life at all.”

“Because you are a good person who recognizes that half of my comedy material comes from your disaster filled love life…  _ ow! _ ”

…

Louis thinks that he probably should have moved on from poring over messages, searching for hidden meanings. He’s twenty five, for goodness sake. He’s a grown man. He pays utility bills. He should not be behaving like he’s in Dawson’s Creek.

Did the characters in Dawson’s Creek even have cell phones? What decade was that show set in…?

Stan sets Louis' phone down, and looks steadily at him. Louis fidgets.

“Well?”

Stan sighs, and sets back in his chair.

“I can confirm that it is definitely a phone. Congratulations.”

Louis laughs despite himself, and flips Stan off, as Stan sits there, looking far too pleased with himself for that crappy joke. After a moment, Louis tips forward on the stool, holding his head in both hands and rubbing at his temples.

“Is this… I should just ignore him, shouldn’t I? I have neither the space, time, or inclination to be involved in some vague, one-sided,  _ let’s just be friends _ , bullshit.”

Stan tips his head to one side, and re-scans the message, frowning.

“You know, he doesn’t actually say  _ let’s just be friends.  _ In fact, this is some pretty impressive language acrobatics to avoid saying anything of real meaning at all… Other than some really cute, sincere stuff. In fact, this is disgusting. I can’t look anymore.”

Louis grins, and bites his lip, before remembering that he doesn’t do straight guys.

“I don’t do straight guys.”

Stan waves a hand, dismissive.

“Yeah yeah, I don’t do gay guys, either. But gay guys don’t tend to send me messages that make me go all smiley and giggly and what has gotten in to you, Tommo?”

Frowning, Louis stands up, heading to get a drink of water just for something to do.

“You don’t understand Stan – I thought that we’d spent the week flirting. I am attracted to him. It’s really hard to shut it off. You’ve never had this, because…”

Stan sighs dramatically.

“Yes yes, because I’m not gay, therefore I can never understand your plight, blah blah, all the woe, etc. I still think that you, as a massive gay, have an inbuilt tendency to make things approximately twelve billion times more complicated than they need to be. And yes, I know you were born this way, and I shouldn’t judge, but get a goddamn grip, will you?”

Looking sternly at Stan, Louis shrugs.

“And so what do you recommend, you wise old owl?”

Stan blinks at him, from behind his glasses, and them tips them down his nose slightly, incredulous.

“I thought that I just made myself perfectly clear. Message him back. Something like  _ hey, Tomlinson here, turns out that I’m a homo, and yes, I am interested in having the privilege of sucking your dick, and not so interested in being just your friend, because I have a whole heap of friends already, I’m crazy popular, so if you want to hang out with me just let it be known that I will be turning up in full seduction mode, so if you think your flimsy, questionable straightness can withstand that then bring it on, Harry. _

Louis laughs in horror despite his best efforts, even as he looks for something to throw at Stan.

“Oh wonderful, I’ll just send that word for word, shall I? That should move things along no end.”

Stan shrugs, dipping his head graciously.

“You’re welcome.”

…

Niall calls Harry, late that evening, when he can’t really take it anymore.

“Hi Niall.”

Niall almost falls off the couch in shock, and then stands up, waving quickly at his housemate and moving swiftly to his bedroom, closing the door behind him.

“Oh, remembered how to communicate, have we, Harry?”

Harry grunts, and Niall tries to recall which method of approach he’d ultimately settled on; concerned, or annoyed.

He attempts both.

“I’ll have you know that I’ve spent the entire day worrying about you – if I go gray prematurely you will be receiving all of my salon bills.”

It sounds like Harry grumbles out a laugh, and Niall sits on his bed, stretching his legs out in front of him, and waiting for Harry to contribute something to the conversation.

“I’m sorry I left last night without saying anything.”

Niall hums, and wiggles his toes around, for something to do.

“Yes, well, that was pretty useless of you.”

Harry clears his throat.

“It’s just that, Louis kissed me, which was unexpected. And then I realized that you knew what was going on, and had just neglected to tell me, and so I went home. I was angry with you. I think I still am.”

Niall tips his head back, looking at the ceiling.

“You know that, if I ‘d have told you that I knew Louis was gay, and flirting crazy hard with you, you’d have shut the whole thing down and not gone to the party at all.”

There’s a long pause, in which Niall wonders whether he has gone too far.

“Yeah. I know.”

This is Niall’s worst kind of conversation, the sort in which there are several really obvious things that need saying, but all of them are off the table, for one reason and another.

“Niall, I really don’t want to have another conversation about why you think I’m gay. So. Find something else to say next.”

God, he hates it when he reads his mind.

“Okay. But that conversation is coming soon babe, okay? Over the next week or so. Just mentally brace yourself for it. In the meantime; have you been in touch with Louis? Because if you haven’t, then you are pretty much resigning yourself to having terminated that friendship in the most stylish of fashions, because abandoning someone on a roof is pretty much in my personal top three of most melodramatic exits, ever.”

Harry laughs quietly, and then sighs.

“Oh you are such a little shit Niall, I hate you. And yes, I have been in touch with Louis.”

And then Harry stops. And goddamnit he can’t just end that sentence there.

“ _ And?” _

Niall can tell he is rolling his eyes, but secretly wants to talk about this.

“ _ And _ he messaged back. I’m trying to gradually ease my way out of the dog house, because I managed some self-reflection and realized that he probably has more right to be annoyed with me than I have with him.”

Niall makes an impressed noise.

“Oh, well done you. So now, what is happening?”

Harry pauses, and there is just enough time there, Niall thinks, for him to check his phone screen and then start talking again.

“We’re, you know. Having a civil conversation. Louis keeps interrupting the civil conversation to say in all caps  _ by the way I’m gay _ , so, you know, I have no excuses this time round. Full awareness.”

Niall snorts despite himself, because from the little he knows about Louis, that still sounds like a very  _ Louis _ thing to do. He makes a different point though.

“No excuses to do  _ what _ Harry?”

There’s a pause, and Niall wonders whether he has overstepped a mark.

“Even though I am not okay with having the whole,  _ is Harry gay?  _ conversation, right now, you know that I’m not homophobic, right? I mean, I’m not fighting some inner battle with my sexuality at the moment. I just… genuinely don’t think I’m gay. Does that make sense?”

Niall nods to himself, because, yes, that statement taken by itself makes perfect sense. It’s just when he couples it with Harry’s current behavior that the logic throws a gear.

“But you’re messaging Louis back. Even though he’s making it perfectly clear that he isn’t in it for the friendship.”

“Niall, you don’t know that, he’s just, you know, breaking the ice or whatever…”

Niall sighs, loudly.

“Oh Harry. Come on.”

There’s a long heavy pause, and then Harry breathes out slowly.

“Okay. Yes. I’m messaging Louis back.”

Niall shrugs, happy to leave it there, for now.

“Well, I won’t keep you. Just don’t be accidentally breaking any hearts; I’m pretty sure that Stan will find a way to pin it on me. And then murder me. He seems the type.”

Harry absorbs this solemnly, and Niall hopes for a break through at some point, because silent, introspective Harry, is his least favorite version of him.

“Bye Niall.”

Niall rolls his eyes, good-naturedly.

“ _ Bye,  _ Harry. You know where I am if you need me. And I am sorry, you know. For not telling you what was going on between you and Louis.”

Harry sounds like he is smiling, when he answers.

“I know. Who knows, it might all work out yet…”

…

Harry puts the phone down, and then tries to arrange the pillows behind his back, so he can sit upright in his bed more comfortably.

The conversation with Nick upstairs really helped.  _ Really  _ helped. Because now, Harry at least knows that he wants Louis to think of him as a good person. And that means not running away from the situation, like he did last night.

And he does  _ like  _ Louis. A hell of a lot more than most other people, it would seem. Harry wants to spend time with him.

And it is only vaguely weird, having knowledge of why Louis wants to spend time with him. Harry is sure that there have been times when he has realized why a girl wants to hang out with him, and he has pretty much ran in the opposite direction to avoid the situation occurring again.

Whereas with Louis…

He’s flattered, he guesses. Because Louis is… well. He was by far the most beautiful person in the room last night. By some distance. In Harry’s opinion.

Harry doesn’t know what to do with that thought. Doesn’t even really know why he noticed. That’s just a subconscious thing that must just happen all the time, but he usually never realizes.

At this point, his phone lights up again, and Harry reaches for it, expecting a continuation of the current conversation that he is having with Louis (the one about which television programmes they like, and how they both anticipate their week going.)

It’s an unknown number.

_ HELLO THIS IS STAN JUST LETTING YOU KNOW THAT LOUIS IS GAY. OVER. _

Harry laughs, because he thinks that he might end up hating these two, and quickly messages back.

_ HELLO HARRY SPEAKING YES I KNOW LOUIS KEEPS REMINDING ME WHICH IS APPRECIATED BECAUSE CLEARLY I’M PRETTY BAD AT SPOTTING THEM. _

He then gets another message from Louis.

_ By the way, Stan just asked for your number, please ignore everything that he says. _

Harry grins, but then he has another message from Stan.

_ I KNOW I COULD TELL BY THE WAY YOU PITCHED A FIT WHEN LOUIS KISSED YOU. (BY THE WAY LOUIS IS HOPING THAT YOU’LL ASK TO MEET UP WITH HIM NEXT WEEKEND – BE A DEAR, WOULD YOU?) _

Louis had kissed Harry. Harry thinks about the way it had felt like Louis was smiling, as he did so.

Thinks about the way his own lips had almost joined in, automatically.

He really doesn’t know what to make of that.

Keep things simple. Keep things understandable.

_ I am ignoring Stan, even though he keeps shouting. Anyway, do you want to go for a coffee, maybe, next weekend? Compare notes on how our weeks went?” _

Harry bites at his fingernails while he waits for a response, nervous. Because maybe he’s still mis-reading this. Maybe Louis is now the one just being polite, and Stan is encouraging Harry to make a fool of himself as payback for last night.

_ Sure – I’d like that. Promise not to take you up onto any roofs.” _

Laughing, Harry squints at his phone, trying to think of a witty comeback in time.

_ Cool, thanks; I think I might be allergic, or something. To roofs. Not your company.  _

It’s not very witty at all, but Harry hopes Louis understands what Harry is trying to say. Even though that would be a bit of a miracles, because Harry isn’t completely sure what he is trying to say.

After a moment he just gets back a series of smiling faces. And then another message from Stan.

_ I’M LIKE A GODDAMN FAIRY GODMOTHER RIGHT NOW – Y’ALL CAN THANK ME LATER. DON’T RUN AWAY FROM YOUR PHONE HARRY. _

Harry thinks he might have to end up blocking Stan.

But instead he tucks his phone into his pocket, and wanders out into the kitchen, where the concept of tea, toast, and a continued conversation with Louis about nothing meaningful at all, sounds very attractive.

 

 


	10. Chapter Ten

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is part ten.  
> Larry. SFW. All lies.

The week passes without incident.

Harry thinks that time is doing something weird though. Slowing down. Or speeding up. He feels off balance, regardless.

Work is still pretty straight-forward. In a depressing, mind-numbingly tedious sort of way. But Harry has to really concentrate, when he is at work. There’s no space for anything other than full focus, which means he can’t be vaguely composing a message to Louis in his head, to send in his lunch break. Which comes as a bit of a relief, because they’re messaging back and forth  _ so much _ now, Harry wonders how his data plan is going to hack it.

In the evenings, Louis suggests a movie to watch. And Harry will load it up on Netflix, and they’ll watch it together, sending messages back and forth until Harry isn’t even watching the movie any more, he’s just watching his phone.

It feels incredibly intense, somehow. Harry can’t get enough. He just wants more.

And so he lies in bed, Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday night, and thinks about Louis.

Thinks about Louis kissing him.

And thinks about the concept of him kissing Louis.

And it doesn’t…make him want to vomit. Or anything. Or make him feel weird or uncomfortable or whatever he thinks he should be feeling, maybe, at the idea of kissing a boy.

It’s just.

Harry’s doesn’t know what he’s supposed to be feeling. His previous two girlfriends were both, well. Just really bad at kissing. The entire bedroom area, really. They must have been. But Harry had put up with it because he got on well with them and they’d shared his sense of humor and sense of justice and whatever.

And then he’d dumped one because he’d realized that he was getting bored of her, and that wasn’t supposed to happen in a relationship. And he’d been dumped by the other because she claimed that he wasn’t ‘into it’ enough; whatever that had meant. Harry had always assumed that it was the women who were commitment phobes. Apparently this was not always the case.

Louis is flirting with him. In a very vague, gentle, not threatening in the slightest, manner. But now that Harry knows what is going on, he can spot it.

And Harry isn’t exactly discouraging it.

Of course, it is very easy to be comfortable with flirtation when the other person isn’t in the room. This is all very abstract, right now.

It might be different in real life.

…

Niall calls him once, on the Thursday night. Harry ignores the phone call, because he’s in the middle of making dinner, and then never really gets around to calling him back, because he and Louis are going to watch yet another show that Louis is seemingly obsessed with. Harry basically plans to mock his every reaction via text message.

After half an hour, Harry remembers about the missed call, and composes a separate message.

_ Sorry N, bit busy tonight. Is everything okay? Call you over the weekend? _

He gets an answer pretty quickly, and squints down at his phone.

_ Just calling you up to check in and ask you whether you’ve figured out if you are gay or not, yet. TOUGH LOVE. _

Harry grits his teeth, and rolls his eyes, because he doesn’t think that things have gone far enough down this path to merit a full analysis of that. He’s just chatting to a boy who he knows likes him. It’s hardly a pride parade.

_ Because Harry, you should probably have done a least a bit of reflection on that point, before you meet up with Louis. Because keep this up, and it’ll count as leading Louis on. _

The idea is jarring, and Harry stares at the message for a bit, turning the thought over in his mind. Eventually he types out a reply.

_ I’m just messaging him. I like talking to him. _

The answer comes back within seconds.

_ ‘just messaging him oh sure, all night from the second you get in from work till the moment you fall asleep. And don’t deny it; I have my sources. _

Damn it, Stan. Harry sighs, and rests his phone on the side table, before sitting up, removing his laptop from his knees and placing it on the floor.

It probably is possible to go too fast too quickly. Particularly if Harry isn’t sure yet about… well. Anything, really.

Impulsively, he reaches for his phone. He can call Louis, can’t he? That isn’t against the rules.

“Hey.”

Louis sounds completely spooked, as if he’s been confronted by a surprise water-buffalo in his apartment, inexplicable and really hard to ignore.

“Hey… everything okay?”

Harry screws up his face, because the last time he’d heard Louis' voice he’d been on an incredibly cold rooftop about to have the surprise of his life, and he’s struggling to separate that moment from this.

“Yeah, I just wanted to- I’m going to have to bail on the tv watching, tonight. I’ve, ahhh, just remembered about a deadline for tomorrow afternoon, and I really need to get my shit together.”

There’s a pause, and then Louis boldly says “Is that a lie Harry? I think that’s a lie.”

Shit, that’s another thing Harry is learning about Louis. He doesn’t play by normal conversation rules. Harry rubs at his head, and then grunts in recognition.

“Umm. Yeah. Okay. It is. Sorry. It’s just… Niall sent me some messages, and he’s pretty talented at hitting all of my sensitive spots at  _ once,  _ and… I don’t know. This is pretty intense, for me, Louis.”

Harry fiddles with his comforter as Louis processes this, and Harry thinks this might be another future example of him being completely useless, but that doesn’t mean that it isn’t  _ true. _

“Ok. That’s okay. We’ll… are we still on for Saturday?”

Harry nods firmly, because that’s been what’s getting him through the week, and he doesn’t want it to get cancelled.

“Yeah, definitely. If that’s still what you want to do?”

Louis laughs slightly at him, and then just murmurs “god, we are terrible at this… yes, that is still what I want to do. So, you do something else now. Something that doesn’t involve checking your phone every two seconds for my running commentary on crappy television shows.”

Harry grins and then says ‘Yeah- thought I might have another go at writing something actually. Write a scathing review of some of the god awful shit you’ve been forcing upon me…”

Louis squawks in outrage, and Harry is laughing, because he can just image the look on Louis' face.

“How dare you. Do it, bring it along on Saturday, and I’ll tell you why you are entirely wrong.”

Harry bites his lip, grinning.

“Sure. If you’d like.”

Harry thinks Louis might have just rolled his eyes.

“Of course I’d like. Now go away. Go be creative.”

After they hang up, Harry stands up and stretches, trying to work some of the nervous energy out of his body.

He’d not really planned to write anything tonight, had just said it for something to say, but something about the end of that conversation has him moving over to his desk, opening up a notebook.

Words can be difficult, sometimes. But these ones are for Louis, and the whole thing feels a great deal easier, somehow.

…

Harry manages to not think himself into a near nervous breakdown, while deciding what to wear. He marks it down as progress.

They meet outside a coffee shop, just a couple of blocks east of Brooklyn Bridge Park. Harry doesn’t know the area very well, but Louis does, and thankfully the coffee shop is easy to find, so that is another hurdle crossed.

So he turns up in a sweater, and a jacket on top of that because even though the skies are clear winter still isn’t letting go of the year, despite it being early March. And he’s got an A4 sheet of paper carefully folded up in his backpocket and only very slightly sweaty palms. He’s good to go.

Louis looks… Harry fumbles, mentally for a word, and then settles on  _ radiant _ , because the afternoon sun is catching him, somehow, and Louis looks from another world entirely.

It only takes half a second for Louis to spot Harry, wandering down the sidewalk towards him, and he flips him off expansively, which helps to break the spell, slightly.

“Hi.”

“Oh shit, not you.”

Harry laughs, and flips Louis off in return, before gesturing at the front door.

“Coffee, then?”

Louis nods, and Harry pushes open the door, holding it so that Louis can walk past him. Louis grins manically at him, as he passes, and Harry laughs again, thinking about how it’s lucky that at least one of them knows how to break the tension.

…

They get the coffees to go, and walk the couple of blocks over to the river, because it feels like ages since either of them have felt any sun on their skins, and as Louis says, ‘there are bits of that park that aren’t completely shitty’.

Harry thinks it is beautiful.

It isn’t a very long park, or a very long walk, but they stretch it out, by stopping to buy a donut and then stopping at a kiosk to decide with postcard contains the ugliest view, and then just stopping, for long stretches, to lean on a rail and look out over the water.

They talk about nothing, complete  _ nothing _ topics, like the past week and what Niall was like at school and the best heckle put downs Stan’s ever come up with, while joggers jog and dog walkers walk and cyclists cycle. Harry is struck by the idea that everyone else has somewhere else to be, while him and Louis are perfectly content where they are, just wasting time.

Harry doesn’t remember the last time he wasted time without feeling guilty about it, as it was happening.

He’s enjoy this. He’s enjoying being with Louis.

…

Despite Louis' best efforts, the park isn’t indefinite, and him and Harry reach the limit of what has been opened up to the public; an abrupt cut off looking out over a partially obscured view, with a few benches scattered around, attempting to soften the blow.

Harry squints a bit, and then glances up at Louis, who’s trying and failing to think of what to do next.

“We’re out of park.”

Louis nods, trying to not look as if this is a surprise, as though he did have a plan in mind of what happens next (although really, does anyone do that? Surely life is just a continued chain of reactions, rather than decisions?)

“I know, right? Sucks.”

Louis leaves it there, because even though he’s had a good time, and doesn’t really want Harry to go, he acknowledges that Harry might need to run off at this point. Because Louis knows that he wants this to be a date. God, a thousand text messages a night does not suggest platonic friendship in his mind whatsoever. But Harry is… whatever Harry is right now. So Louis doesn’t want to push him for anything he isn’t ready for.

Harry shoves his hands into his jacket pockets, and glances around, looking stumped. Then he brightens.

“Oh, I brought along a review I wrote- I mean. If you wanted to read it. It’s probably useless, but I’m trying to get better at showing people things so…”

Louis nods, happy.

“Sure! I’d like that. We could, umm…”

But Harry has already read his mind, is already heading over to one of the benches. He turns, and beckons to Louis briefly, and Louis struggles to not grin like an idiot, struggles to remember all the potential problems that go with Harry.

Harry delves into his back pocket before he sits, and hands the sheet of paper over with a flourish.

“What, you used an actual pen? You hipster.”

“Shut up.”

…

Harry feels really warm.

And it isn’t the sun; they’re in a shadow, set just back from the main path. And it certainly isn’t the temperature.

Harry just feels warm because Louis is reading his words, silently. Like, really reading them, poring over the sheet as if he is revising for an exam. Harry tries not to fidget.

Louis sits up, and then blinks, handing the sheet back to Harry with a smile.

“You know, you are really good with words. You make them do clever things. I mean, I think I should give you a review to your review, but I kind of feel like I shouldn’t, because my words won’t do yours justice.”

It hits even harder because Harry was expecting a joke, and so he just sits there on the bench, smiling shyly at Louis before looking down at his sneakers, embarrassed.

“It’s just a thing, Louis. It’s not going to win the Pulitzer. Although thanks.”

Harry can tell that he is being observed, and wonders whether Louis can see that even his ears are blushing. Louis clears his throat, sounding amused.

“Although you are entirely wrong in your criticism of Orange Is The New Black. It is an excellent show.”

Harry laughs, and then tips himself sideways, shoving at Louis' shoulder playfully.

“Oh Louis. It is a complete pile of shit. Seriously. I don’t think I can spend time with someone who thinks it is any good.”

Louis snorts, and then sobers suddenly, and Harry looks over at him, to find Louis biting her lip.

“Is that what we are doing, Harry? ‘Spending time’?”

Harry shrugs, because he doesn’t know how else to define it, and that doesn’t sound so bad, does it?

It doesn’t.

Louis just observes him for a moment, and Harry finds himself staring back, absorbing how pretty he is, how easy this feels like it might be.

He glances at Louis' lips, before remembering himself, but Louis catches the motion.

“Harry… I think I’m going to kiss you now. I’m just giving you lots of warning in case you suddenly remember you have somewhere else to be, or come out in hives, or something.”

He’s not going anywhere; he feels like he might be glued to the bench, stuck to this very moment. Louis seems to search his face for a reaction, and then leans into him, and Harry’s eyes tip shut automatically.

It is the softest, most fleeting of presses, but it is directly on Harry’s mouth, and if Harry was warm before…

A second too late, he blinks his eyes open again, and Louis is there, a scant foot away, looking concerned.

“Was that… is that an okay thing? Because say now and we can just pretend that it didn’t happen, so…”

Harry shakes his head slightly, feeling dazed.

“No, that’s… that was only really quick, so I can’t really…”

Harry tails off, because the rest of that sentence ends with something ridiculous like  _ tell how I feel about it _ , and Harry can tell a bit of how he felt about it; namely that it felt nice and Harry wouldn’t be entirely adverse to it happening again.

Louis is still just watching him, calmly, and Harry can’t really take it. This doesn’t have to mean anything. Even if his inner Niall is screaming  _ but it does, it obviously does! _ He can deal with that later.

So this time he leans into Louis, though Louis meets him halfway, after only a fraction of a second.

It’s just a kiss.

It’s just  _ kissing. _

Louis' lips are soft, and feel amazing.

…


	11. Chapter Eleven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part Eleven. Larry. All lies. SFW. This is an AU story, based on a prompt which you can find on the first chapter.

Nick has just finished cleaning his bits of the apartment when the knock on his door comes.

It isn’t really that long of a job to clean down their various spaces, but he’d gone to the gym in the morning, and then had to head to the stores to buy a birthday present for his mom, and sometimes Saturdays just get lost. So it is late afternoon, and the plan for the rest of the day is for him and Nicco to get something heated up for dinner, and then watch a crappy movie together.

It sounds like a good plan. Not, maybe, a  _ perfect _ plan, but a good one regardless. Because excitement can be over-rated sometimes; particularly when two people have both had long working weeks, for one reason and another.

So Nick is on the final stage, the bit that involves rearranging the throws and cushions on the couch, while Nicco mutters to himself and swears while he finishes clearing the bathroom. And then there’s a knock on the door.

It makes Nick straighten-up, and stand with his hands on his hips for a second, frowning, because visitors always have to buzz up. A knock means that someone already has access to the building, and so…

Nick has a wave of premonition, just before he takes a peek through the spy glass, and yup, sure enough, there’s Harry, looking down the corridor towards the elevator entrance as is contemplating running, clutching what looks like a bag of chips to his chest.

Sliding the catch across, Nick opens the door with a grin, and leans on the frame, gesturing Harry inside.

“You need to talk? Because my fee is one bag of chips per session.”

Harry smiles, blush just showing on his cheeks, and shrugs slightly.

“Oh, that’s convenient…”

Nick gestures at the couch, trying to encourage the clearly hesitating boy to sit, but Harry is looking around at the space, shifting from foot to foot.

“Um, actually, I can’t just crash on you like this. It’s not important, you are clearly about to prep dinner, I’ll go, maybe another time…”

Harry’s looking very twitchy, and he almost jumps out of his skin when Nicco sticks his head around the corner, ready to greet.

“Hi- whoa, sorry. I’m Nicco.”

Harry clutches a hand to his chest, and Nick almost wants to hand him a glass of water, or maybe a paper bag to breath into, but instead just pats him on the shoulder soothingly.

“Hey, relax; Harry, this is Nicco, my boyfriend. Nicco, this is Harry.”

Nicco waves, and Nick can tell that he is doing his utmost to appear friendly and approachable, and he has to fight down a grin at what a dork he is.

“Hi, nice to meet you. I’d come shake your hand but I’m in the middle of bathroom cleaning, so… Nick mentioned you gave him lots of free food last weekend – thanks.”

Harry smiles weakly, and waves, seemingly trying to somehow not draw attention to the bag of chips he has in his hand.

“Hi… sorry dude, this was a bit of an impulse drop in, I’m just feeling a bit…”

Harry trails off, and ends up looking at his feet, and Nicco, with only one glance from Nick, takes the hint, and heads back to the bathroom. Nick squeezes once, vaguely, at Harry’s shoulder, so that Harry looks at him.

“Hey. You can stay, if you want. We haven’t planned anything. So if you need to talk about anything, then…”

Harry smiles, and then drops the bag of chips on Nick’s coffee table, before pushing two hands through his hair and breathing out, steady.

“No, um, this was, I was just coming up to say thank you, really, for the other weekend. And um. Um.”

Nick just waits, and after a second Harry seems to gather himself.

“I am going to go. But. You know Louis?”

Nick nods, because although he doesn’t  _ know _ him, he knows exactly who Harry is referring to, would have guessed that it would be something about Louis that has Harry turning up at Nick’s door, looking every shade of flustered known to man.

Harry leans forward after a second, as though imparting shocking news.

“We arranged to go for a walk. And then I  _ kissed  _ him.”

Nick nods, wondering whether a thumbs up would be appropriate in this moment. He decides against it, and Harry just nods back, wide-eyed. He then repeats, as if Nick can’t have heard the first time.

“I kissed a boy.”

With that, Harry seems to remember where he is, and guiltily looks over Nick’s shoulder at the point where Nicco had just disappeared. Then he starts off towards the door, trailing Nick behind him.

‘Sorry Nick, sorry. I shouldn’t have just turned up, I’ll be off now, got stuff to do…”

Harry looks so flustered, that Nick can’t help but try to give out advice, even though he knows almost nothing of the situation, he does have expertise in this area _. _

“Harry, you know you can talk if you want to? I mean, did you like it? When you kissed a boy.”

Harry pauses in the doorway, and looks at Nick, frowning.

“Well. Yeah. I mean, I wouldn’t have done it if I didn’t think I was going to like it. I liked it. He’s… Louis is… I liked it.”

Pursing his lips to avoid grinning at Harry, Nick shrugs.

“So. There you go. No need to make things more complicated than that.”

“Do you think I should call Niall?” Harry asks with a frown creasing his forehead, and Nick wonders what the answer is.

“You choose, Harry. Call whoever you want to speak to. And you can speak to me too, if you need someone completely unconnected to the rest of it.”

Harry nods vaguely, and then smiles to himself, glancing up at Nick.

“You must think I’m a proper weirdo.”

Nick rolls his eyes.

“Oh please. I like being involved in stuff. Go do what you need to do Harry.”

…

Stan gets back in half an hour after Louis arrives.

This should have been enough time for Louis to compose himself. In fact he thinks he’s pretty much got it covered. He’s kicked off his shoes, got half an eaten sandwich in front of him, television on. Louis has already practised in his head what he will say when Stan asks how it went, has already rehearsed the shrug.

He is not going to let Stan get more excited about this. Because then Louis will get excited about it and  _ one _ of them needs to remember that this is a straight boy, and Louis had  _ thought  _ that he had grown out of this sort of self-sabotage.

Stan has a hell of a lot of bags with him, and makes a show of dumping them extravagantly on the floor, two steps into their apartment.

“Louis, remind me why I don’t have a P.A. yet?”

Louis lifts his head from the couch, and calls back “because you don’t have a career yet, Lucas.”

Louis hears the snort, and then listens, as Stan seems to manage to bang every cupboard door, as he put groceries away.

“Nearly got into a brawl with a youth over the last tub of humus, I had to apply the old evil eye just to get him to release, seriously, what is the world coming to if goddamn teenagers are eating humus? Something’s going very wrong in the world, Lou.”

Shrugging, Louis mumbles “Blame Trump, obviously” over his shoulder, which earns a laugh, and then Stan comes over, clutching a bag of chips, and makes to sit on Louis, forcing Louis to move at the last second.

Stan cuts across him, opening up the bag and throwing a chip at Louis' face.

“Cut the blah, Tommo. How was it? Your little afternoon stroll with the boy who certainly isn’t gay even though he keeps texting you and you keep drifting around the house like a little homosexual balloon full of joy?”

Louis pulls a face, and retrieves the chip, crunching it up.

“It was fine. Good. Nothing to report.”

Stan squints at him for a moment, and then rolls his eyes.

“Liar.”

“No, seriously.”

“Liar. What, you just went for a walk together, talked about nothing, and then went your separate ways? I’m calling either bullshit, or one of you lost your nerve.”

Louis shrugs, because even though kissing Harry hadn’t felt like a mistake, kissing straight boys is. So he changes tack.

“Stan, do you remember the relationship I was in when I met you? With Alex?”

Stan sighs, and stretches his shoulders back, seeming to try and roll out some tension.

“Closet Alex? Yeah, I remember him.”

“Do you remember how he’d come over to my place sometimes, but then if his mom called he’d flap his hand at me, and make me be silent, and hold the discussion as if he was by himself? Or the way that I went on multiple dates with his weird religious friends as his  _ other  _ friend, and had to watch as they discussed which charming Christian lady to set Alex up with next?”

Stan raises the bag of chips, as if toasting the air, and pats Louis on the knee, twice.

“Yeah, bro. Closet Alex was not a good time for you. Thank fuck I pulled you out of that fire.”

Louis nods in acknowledgement, because Stan had found him crying one day, and despite knowing Louis for two months tops, had stomped over to Alex’s apartment, leading Louis by the hand, and had yelled into Alex’s face that he needed to figure out who he was before he started playing the dating game. And Alex had scowled, and shut the door, and that had been that.

The memory still twists, even though it has been nearly two years now, and Louis struggles to not let an edge creep into his voice.

“Then why are you letting me dance into this next fire? You should be reminding me that Harry is a bad idea, not sitting there chomping on metaphorical popcorn as I message him.”

Stan flips another chip at him, looking disgruntled.

“Okay, you need to get out of your crazy mindset that all straight-guys are the same. Katie had his issues which were entirely separate to the fact that he was in the closet; namely that he was a sarcastic snob when sober, and unreasonable dick when drunk, and was just nasty, Louis. He was no good. Whereas Harry… Harry is cute. And seems lovely. And just seems a bit confused right now, rather than running around claiming complete heterosexuality to everyone who’ll listen. I swear to god, it was like listening to someone with sexuality Tourette’s, trying to have a normal conversation with Alex.”

Louis rolls over onto his side, and tucks his hands underneath his head, trying not to cling too tight to Stan’s words of encouragement.

“I kissed Harry again.”

Stan makes an indecipherable noise, and then looks down at Louis.

“And?”

Louis wants to bury his face in the cushion, but he isn’t thirteen.

“And then he kissed me back.”

Stan punches the air, like someone has just scored a goal, and then points a finger under Louis' nose.

“And was this in public? Did Harry request that the entire park be locked down before he would be seen with you?”

Louis rolls his eyes, even as he is biting down on a grin.

“No. Shut up.”

Stan sits back, squashing Louis' legs entirely.

“Ow!”

“There, you see. Not Alex. Alex would have turned up in dark glasses and a wig, and bundled you into the back of a van to make out with you. Can you stop trying to apocalypse this Louis? Think positively about it, for goodness sake, you’ll jinx the whole thing.”

“Stan, get off my knees- they don’t bend that way!”

…

“Hey Niall.”

Harry watches himself in the mirror, as Niall drawls out his answer, and he hates these sorts of conversations, but equally he can’t really see a way around it.

“Heeeeey, bro. How was your  _ date? _ ” Harry rolls his eyes, because Niall is teasing him, but doing it will real aplomb, these days.

“Niall, I’ve told you, it wasn’t a date.”

Niall snorts at him, and yeah, Harry feels a little bit like one of those medieval scientists, clinging to the idea that the world was the centre of the universe, even as the evidence stacked up.

“Oh lord, Harry, come  _ on. _ ”

Harry closes his eyes briefly, and takes a deep breath.

“Niall. I kissed him. And then, you know, left five minutes later, because I’m a coward, but I kissed him. Properly.”

Niall takes a second to absorb that, and for someone who sounded so certain of Harry’s sexuality, he does sound a little shocked.

“I- oh. Oh. Oh really. Really, Harry? You kissed Louis on your not date?”

Harry chews on his own lip briefly, hoping for some clear answers, because his head is hurting.

“Yes. What does that mean, Niall? How do I… what do I have to do next?”

Niall sighs at him, and his entire tone goes a register lower, like it always does when he is being protective.

“Oh cutie… you don’t  _ have  _ to do anything next. Lord knows there’s no rule book.”

Harry stands up from his bed, restless, and paces around in a small, pointless circle.

“For the record, Niall, if you say I told you so, I’ll find a way to kill you.”

Niall laughs at him after a split second of silence, and then grumbles at him.

“Christ Harry, you think I’m awful, don’t you, the whole sexuality thing can wait, huh? Louis is the first human person you have shown any interest in since I can remember; arrange another not date, will you. Go kiss him some more.”

Harry sighs, because he wants to, he really wants to. Niall seems to sense his hesitation, because he provides the tiniest extra little push.

“Keep it simple, Harry.”

…

Louis doesn’t hear anything from Harry for the rest of the day.

It’s fine. Maybe. It’s to be expected. Maybe. It’s progress, definitely. Going from five seconds of kissing to five minutes of kissing is a big jump, time wise, even if Harry did fumble for some polite excuses and leave, ten minutes later, with an awkward kiss to Louis' cheek. It still counts a progress.

Louis rolls his eyes at himself as he gets into bed, because maybe Stan has managed to infiltrate his thought process, maybe he’s being John Malkovich-ed right now.

It’s just… the kiss was really good. People who aren’t sure about their sexuality shouldn’t be allowed to kiss that well; there should be a law.

Louis turns off the light, and turns himself onto his side, pulling the covers up over his head, determined to think of something other than the way Harry’s mouth moved against his, or the way Harry’s hand hovered for a hesitating moment, before brushing a gentle finger down the side of Louis' cheek.

He then nearly jumps out of his skin, when his phone vibrates on the bedside table.

It’s Harry.

_ I’ve spent about two hours thinking about what I want to say to you, but it all sounds like a half truth. _

Louis waits, heart in his mouth, because he can see that Harry is still typing.

_ So the whole truth is; I can’t stop thinking about you. _

Louis gasps, and then bites down on his lip to avoid making any other stupid noises.

What to say, what to say? He could ignore it, pretend that he was asleep. Give him some time to think.

Instead Louis types out a careful  _ sorry,  _ presses send, and waits for Harry to respond.

_ Don’t be. I don’t think I want to stop thinking about you. _

It makes Louis blush, and he wonders if Harry is aware of what he does to him, of how easily he can wind Louis up, and christ, it has been two kisses, Tomlinson. Get it together.

_ Good. _

Harry is typing again, and Louis wonders whether he is doing it from his bed too.

_ Can I see you again? I’d like to.  _

Louis already knows what his answer is going to be before he even begins typing.

…

 


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is part twelve.   
> Larry. SFW. All lies.  
> Thanks for reading guys :)

Another week goes by.

Harry finds himself thinking his way into little corners of his own brain, as if logic is any use to him, at this point.

It’s just this one guy, maybe. Just Louis. Harry’s been into girls before.

But as the week goes by, and Harry finds it increasingly hard to sleep, lying in his double bed alone, he finds himself questioning even that.

Was he into his previous girlfriends? He’d gotten on great with them, and had fun and whatever, but he’s never felt this  _ ache _ in his chest before. Like there’s a vacuum, and Harry can’t figure out how to plug the gap.

He can’t stop thinking about Louis. He can’t stop thinking about kissing Louis. He can’t stop…

And  _ that’s  _ a new thought as well.

Harry’s always considered himself to have a pretty low sex drive, but by the fourth night in a row of letting his hand creep down, as he thinks about kissing Louis, he has to acknowledge that this is maybe not entirely the case.

He does a lot of googling. Things about the average age to figure out sexuality. Or factors that can cause sexuality to start raising its head.

There’s a hell of a lot of shit out there, he realizes, about repressing urges and homosexuality being a symptom of some past trauma and why it is unnatural. After the second day he stops his one man quest for knowledge, because all it is doing is making him doubt himself.

It’s just a friendship. That comes with a side order of kissing, and a hell of a lot of nervous, giggly feelings.

He worries that this is a temporary thing. Some kind of reaction, to loneliness and stress at work and feeling unsatisfied with life.

Because he isn’t scared of being gay. Not really. He knows plenty of gay people. He knows they live perfectly good, happy, fulfilled, decent lives.

He just isn’t sure at what point  _ they _ becomes  _ we. _

On the Friday morning before Harry’s weekend, he calls in sick to work, and spends the entire day, listening to music and composing about a million different hand written letters.

Ones to himself. Ones trying to figure out where this is going.

Is he gay, now? Is this how it works? One kiss and a crush on a boy and he’s now gay?

What the fuck?

Harry sends a desperate little message to Nick, around lunch time. One which just says  _ when did you know you were gay? _

He’s supposed to be meeting Louis tonight. Harry worries that if he dwells too much on that then he will pass out through nerves. But he feels like he can’t turn up with no answers whatsoever. What if Louis wants to make out some more? What if other things happen? He can’t. He  _ can’t. _

She gets a message back after half an hour of waiting.

_ Ever since I understood the concept of gay, I knew that’s what I was. I’m not much help for that sort of thing. Sorry. Talk to Louis about it? You’re still seeing him tonight, right? _

Harry breathes out, and then tries to take a couple more deep breathes, cause that’s a thing that people are supposed to do, when they feel like this.

_ Yeah, Nick, as long as I don’t panic myself into an early grave. _

_ Just take it slow Harry. You got this.  _

Take it slow. Harry repeats the phrase over in his head, as he eyes his closet for something to wear.

Take it slow.

…

Louis is trying to concentrate on his laptop.

He’s got multiple internships on the go, trying to scrape a few cents together and not have to do more than a couple of shifts a week, at the bar Stan also works in, a few blocks over. The current task is trawling through endless scripts for a network, coming up with a shortlist of those which have potential, which then get sent higher up the chain.

Louis used to agonize over his choices for  _ ages _ , now, however, a script is lucky if it gets a minute before Louis makes a choice. His reject pile is sky high. His bosses are very pleased with him.

Today, however…

Louis opens up his phone, and re-reads the message

_ Hey. Without wishing to sound like a total weirdo – I’m freaking out, right now. Could we, kind of, downgrade tonight? I still want to see you. But I’m somehow building up aLOT of pressure in my head right now, and I don’t want to bail on you. _

Frowning, Louis looks back at his screen, blankly. Because the plan had only been to go for a drink and then a comedy club, which Louis doesn’t think counts as high pressure in the first place.

He is rapidly learning that Harry doesn’t seem to lie  _ at all _ , and all the honesty is making Louis feel protective, somehow. He’s pretty sure that this sort of message should be setting off all of the warning bells in his head, but instead he just wants to put his arms around Harry and tell him that he is doing just fine.

Sighing, Louis picks up his phone again.

_ Sure – there’s a coffee shop close to me that has comfy chairs and lets you sit for a long time. Want to do that instead? Thank you for not bailing. X _

…

Louis arrives early. It’s an effort, but he remembers that Harry said something about always being too early to things, and Louis doesn’t want him to worry himself into a problem before Louis even gets there.

Harry looks nervous, when he does arrive, and Louis smiles quietly at him, hoping that it will somehow help him relax. Harry sits opposite him, on one of the couches, but doesn’t relax into it at all, instead just perches on the edge and rubs his hands over his knees vaguely.

“Hey, I’m sorry for requesting a last minute change, it’s just, it’s been a long week, and this is all really new for me, and I don’t want to do the wrong thing, or-“

Louis holds up a hand, and then shrugs.

“It’s cool. I only really wanted to see you; venue doesn’t matter that much.”

Harry dips his head, and inspects his fingers, looking shy.

“See, that’s… another way that you seem to be able to make me feel good without even really trying, and I don’t know what I’m supposed to say back.”

Louis frowns, and then fumbles for a joke, using the only technique he knows to try and make this whole thing feel a bit easier for Harry.

“Hey, don’t give me  _ without really trying _ ; I’ve been working on that line all day.”

Harry snorts, and then grins at Louis, and  _ god _ , Louis wishes that his heart wouldn’t clench up like that. So he just smiles back, and gestures beyond Harry.

“No pressure, okay? We can just hang out and talk, if you want?  Although you have to go and get yourself a drink – they don’t tolerate people just using their seats.”

Harry nods, and then glances at Louis' latte.

“Do you want another?”

Louis shakes her head.

“No; I’ve only just got it, look-“

“Yeah, but I feel bad, I wanted to buy you something; you want a muffin? Or a something else? Help me out here Louis.”

…

It’s about forty five minutes of catching up, and Louis mercilessly teasing Harry for buying what seems to be every muffin options available (‘just in case!’), before Harry sets his mug down, and takes a deep breath.

“When did you know you were gay?”

Louis nearly fumbles his own mug, because that was not what they had just been talking about  _ at all _ and he was not prepared for the abrupt change in conversation.

“Umm, whoa, okay.”

Harry’s already apologizing, holding both hands up in the air and looking like he is desperately searching for the rewind button.

“Sorry, sorry, ignore that, that’s probably not a cool thing to ask, we should-“

Louis leans across the table, and grabs one of Harry’s hands, pressing it flat on the surface and tapping the back of it, once.

“No, Harry, it’s perfectly fine, I just haven’t… it’s been a long time since I’ve had to do the little speech, you know? Like, I did all that four or five years ago, when I was just starting college. Now everyone just knows, I don’t have to explain myself anymore.”

Harry nods a couple of times, and then looks away, out towards the dark street.

“Sorry, I just… Nick.. I Told you about Nick, he’s a peach, of course, but he doesn’t really- like, he’s always been gay. I just wanted to talk to someone who had maybe done the whole,  _ oh my goodness _ , sort of thing. Cause, you know.”

Harry gestures helplessly at himself for a moment, and then shrugs, unconvincing grin clouding up his features.

“It’d be stupid to pretend that there wasn’t  _ something _ going on, right now. With me.”

Harry looks for forlorn, that Louis has to fight the impulse to get up, and swap seats, so he can be next to Harry and pat him on the head a couple of times, in comfort.

“I don’t mind talking about it Harry. At all. But, there’s no template, you know? For anything. You might be straight, or gay, or bi, or any of the other options that I can never really remember cause I’m a bad gay. But, you know. You don’t have to rush, or make decisions, or whatever. It’s been, what, a couple of weeks since I first freaked you out? It took me months, Harry.  _ Months. _ ”

Harry shrugs at him, and then bites on his lip.

“I know. I just. I feel like my brain is processing the whole sexuality thing really slowly, but then keeps skipping several steps ahead, whenever I’m thinking about you. Does that make sense?”

Louis blushes, and looks away, because there’s something about Harry’s eyes that have him losing all of his trains of thought, and instead just plotting on how to get Harry to kiss him again.

Harry is asking for advice, for goodness sake. Stop trying to jump everything forward.

“You could, umm, we could get a take-out, and go up to my place, if you wanted? Stan isn’t going to be back tonight, he’s staying with a friend on the other side of town after a gig. So we could talk more up there, maybe?”

That sentence is probably the direct opposite of not trying to jump everything forward, but from the way Harry nods immediately, and then appears to try and look like he is just casually accepting, it is not entirely unwelcomed. Louis stands, tugging at his clothes to straighten out any creases.

“Cool, okay. Let’s go.”

…

Louis and Stan’s place is very… Louis and Stan. Harry doesn’t really know how else to describe it.

Hell, he doesn’t know Stan, has spent a grand total of four hours in his company in a crowded room, but he still thinks that he can guess which items are Stan’s, just from how Louis has explained him, and the various messages he’s had from Stan.

(it is also because Harry now feels like he knows Louis really well, and so can identify objects just by considering whether it is something Louis would own or not.)

The wall art; almost all Louis', asides from the cut out picture of Benedict Cumberbatch with a handbar moustache, drawn on in marker pen, which is inexplicably stuck up on one of the windows, over the sink. Harry raises his eyebrows in question at it, as Louis fills up a glass of water, and Louis looks confused for a second, before shrugging.

“Stan thought someone in the opposite building was spying on him as he did dishes. Don’t ask me. Do you want a drink?”

“Yeah, um, just water. And maybe a real mug to put the rest of this in.”

The mug that Louis gets out of the cupboard to pour the remains of Harry’s Americano into says  _ fuck off-ee  _ on the side, and Harry knows that it is Louis'.

The couch contains a cushion in the shape of a squirrel (Stan’s) and a book with just the title  _ thoughts _ , propped open by its own weight (Louis') and Harry is going to stop this game, because it is just a distraction technique from what is actually happening. So he moves the book, and sits anxiously on the couch, as Louis clatters about in various cupboards, getting plates and cutlery for their food.

“You’ve got a nice place bro.”

“Thanks! Stan keeps me in check, otherwise I’d have all sorts of weird shit up on the walls, you should see my room-”

Louis cuts himself off abruptly, and Harry blushes, and then squirms, and then sighs, because this is awkward and it feels like it is killing him.

“Okay, Louis, when you’ve got that all dealt with, I have some levelling to do with you, so brace yourself for honesty hour.”

Louis snorts a little bit, from behind him, and then says “Oh shit, Harry, there’s a more honest version of you? I don’t think I can cope.”

…

Louis is not regretting his decision to sit next to Harry at all.

Because this way, very little eye contact is actually needed, as the conversation gets up front and personal, and Louis is terrible at these conversations.

It is mainly just Louis talking though, as he shovels Pad Thai into his mouth and tries to not think of this as a date, because it is obvious to him that romance is not what Harry is after, right now. He’s also trying to give Harry a chance to marshal his thoughts, because honesty hour sounds like something Louis would back out of, given half a chance.

So he tells Harry how he realized he was gay.

It’s not that exciting, and Louis thinks it is probably bordering on the unremarkable, but he tells the story anyway.

The intense feelings of admiration for the older boys in the locker room at school, which always seemed a bit weird and so Louis never mentioned it to any of his friends.

That one game of Spin the Bottle where he realized that kissing boys didn’t feels as disgusting as maybe he had been led to believe.

The arrival at college, and the sudden knowledge that he could start entirely again, if he wanted to.

That scummy gay bar where he made out with that one guy in the corner, and none of his friends knew that this was his first time with properly making out with a guy ever, because he was too busy trying to convince everyone that he was a pro.

Telling his friends from school. Telling his family.

It had felt like a series of tick boxes, that Louis had to work his way down. Until he got to a point where he could just drop the fact that he was gay into a conversation, and not have to worry about who it would get back to. Because that had been the most exhausting part of all.

Harry makes little noises, of sympathy, or amusement, when the time is right, but generally stays quiet, only asking a few questions to clarify occasionally, when he doesn’t full understand.

And eventually Louis runs out of story to tell.

They’d finished the take out long ago, so now there is nothing else to concentrate on. Harry rubs his hands together vaguely, and then sighs.

“Was it hard to figure out what was happening? You know – when it was happening?”

Louis shrugs, and tries to remember.

“I guess. It is a process that you go through. It makes sense for you be confused about things. It’s just, you know. A time of my life in which I second guessed literally  _ everything _ , and then it was over, and I was sure.”

Harry bites at his lip, and then looks over at Louis.

“You see, my problem is, and this is the honesty hour bit, so you know; brace yourself. But, anyway. I’m not sure about the sexuality side of it- I have no idea, and it is all really new and I don’t even know how to start thinking about it.”

Louis nods, and tucks his knees up under his chin to hug them, so he can rest the side of his head on his knees to look at Harry. Louis sees Harry glance at his lips, and he is torn between wishing Harry wouldn’t do that, and hoping that he’ll never stop, ever. Harry finds his eyes after a second, and Louis can see the blush, just hiding.

“But, when I think about you- I don’t know Louis. It’s all really certain. Like, I’m certain that I’m attracted to you. I’m certain that I want to spend time with you. And I don’t know how to make the two sides add up.”

Louis unfolds himself after a second, and Louis can’t just kiss him, even though the cute boy on his couch is apparently unable to stop thinking about Louis and is attracted to Louis. He has to at least try.

“So, do you want to do some math? Or…”

From the way Harry freezes, it would seem that he hadn’t even thought of the  _ or _ option. Louis smiles, and shrugs, and its then that Harry moves towards him, and pretty much just clambers over the couch, pressing his lips to Louis' hard and cupping Louis' face with both hands.

Louis kisses back, and lets his hands go to the back of Harry’s head, running fingers through his hair and trying to keep him there.

Harry is still pressing forward, and Louis tips himself back, until Harry is on top of him, and he  _ knows _ how to do this.

The  _ or  _ option is so much easier.

In the short term.

  
  



	13. Chapter Thirteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Thirteen. This is an AU Larry story. All of these words are lies.   
> This part is NSFW. Fair warning. Thanks for reading guys :)

Harry doesn’t know what he is doing.

Well. That’s a lie. He’s lying on top of Louis, making out with him.

Maybe it’s that he doesn’t know  _ why _ he is doing.

But that feels like a lie too, because it feels obvious. He’s doing this because his body wants it, wants the warmth of Louis underneath him, and the smell of that Cologne, or shampoo, or whatever it is, overwhelming his senses. And his mind is here, just going along for the ride, gibbering slightly because it has been so long since Harry’s body had strong enough desires to overrule his mind.

And it isn’t  _ how _ he is doing, because Harry kind of knows  _ how _ he is doing, because after the first couple of minutes of making out Louis started making these  _ noises, _ and they might be the best noises that Harry has ever heard.

At this point Louis removes his hands from the back of Harry’s head, and instead runs them down his sides, to grip at his waist, and Harry’s head is reeling, there’s no other way to describe it.

How is this so… how?

Harry doesn’t know who tilts their head first, all he knows is that there is a tongue, gently running along his bottom lip, and when he chases it with his own, Louis makes  _ another  _ noise, and this time Harry matches it, and oh god. Oh god.

He’s made out with women before. But this is not a woman- Louis is prickly where Harry is used to smooth, and he manages to be both soft and muscly, and Harry cannot stop comparing, thinks that it might be the only thing keeping his sane.

Making out with his exes never resulted in him wanting to roll his hips this early on, but Harry can feel it, feel the want between his legs, the need for pressure.

Louis' finger slip underneath his shirt, and Harry is gasping. Because it tickles and it burns and does everything at once and then Louis sucks on Harry’s lower lip, and that’s when Harry rocks his hips forward, automatically.

And then freezes entirely, lifting his head to break the kiss.

Louis blinks his eyes open after a split second, and Harry doesn’t want to be looked at right now, because the blush is burning on his cheeks. He says the first thing that comes into his head.

“Sorry.”

Louis frowns for a second, as if replaying to figure out what Harry could be apologizing for, and then glances down their bodies.

“Umm. Don’t be? I liked it.”

Harry nods for a moment, trying to look anywhere but Louis' face, where his lips are swollen and his breathing seems uneven. This is not a simple task, as they are still very close.

“Okay.”

Louis is warm, so warm underneath him, and all Harry really wants to do is to find a way to start kissing him again, but he seems incapable of even completing the most instinctive of human interactions.

So he waits, until Louis reaches a hand up, to tuck Harry’s hair behind his ear, and then his eyes drift close automatically.

“Do you want to stop?”

Harry breathes out heavily, and then shakes his head.

“No, it’s just, um. This is fast.”

When he opens his eyes, Louis is biting his lip, and then nods once, decisively.

“But you like the kissing?”

Harry shrugs, feeling stupid. Louis motions him backwards, and Harry struggles to use his limbs, struggles to get himself upright without touching Louis at all. He manages though, and Louis follows him upwards, pressing a soft kiss to Harry’s cheek which seems designed to let him know that he isn’t in trouble.

“Come on. We’ll make hot chocolate and sit in my bed and watch a crappy movie – very high school. And make out like teenagers. Think you can manage that?”

Harry nods once, and turns to kiss Louis, reaching for his hand and squeezing once in gratitude.

“Yeah. Sounds good.”

…

It has been forever since Louis has done this.

Recently all his dates have been with elegant, glamorous men that Louis had spent the entire evening trying to match, or impress. And they’ve gone to cocktail bars or visited an art gallery, and had then gone their separate ways. Or had a desperate sort of sex, before going their separate ways. Because none of them felt right and Louis had been worried that he’d forgotten how to do real feelings, for a while. Had actually managed to make his stand up material come true and turned into a robot.

Louis lends Harry some sweatpants, because he’s wearing these skinny jeans that don’t look compatible with snuggling up in a bed. And Louis then giggles for what feels like forever, when Harry comes back out into the kitchen to help Louis carry their drinks and snacks through to the bedroom, and Louis sees how small they are on Harry, ending around his calves. .

Harry flips him off, grinning.

“Alright, tiny, calm down. I’m a future basketball star.”

Louis snorts at him, and then kisses Harry’s forehead, on impulse.

“You still look very snuggly, right now, for the record. I just want to get into bed with you and cuddle the shit out of you.”

Harry blushes like an idiot, and then looks all mock shocked.

“Louis, I cannot deal with this sort of dirty talk, I really must ask you to restrain yourself.”

Louis laughs some more at him, and then gestures at the tray, while he picks up his macbook.

“Oh, we are being such stereotypes right now, all this talk of cuddling, Stan would crack up. Come on, come help me pick a movie.”

…

The movie they pick is complete shit, and Harry can’t help but wonder if Louis did it on purpose, so that Harry didn’t get too involved, too distracted.

Although how Harry could possibly get distracted from Louis is beyond him.

So the macbook rests on the desk, playing out some nonsense teen comedy from the nineties. And Harry and Louis sit in the bed, propped up against the head board, drinking hot chocolate and eating marshmallows, and commenting on the questionable fashion choices.

After a while, Louis places his empty mug on the side table, and then shuffles down slightly, to rest his head on Harry’s shoulder. Harry ignores the extra strong pulse that his heart gives, and tilts his head to rest against Louis' for a second, before righting himself.

“I haven’t done this in forever.”

“What, watched a crappy movie?”

Harry shrugs with his free shoulder, and then corrects the idea.

“No. Been in bed with someone like this. Like  _ this. _ ”

Louis must have a million questions; hell, if the positions were reversed then Harry thinks he would be incapable of just quietly going along, like Louis is. On the screen, some boy punches another boy, and he falls into a fountain. Louis reaches for his hand.

“Here, look, come here.”

Harry lets Louis take his palm, and then stretch his fingers out, tracing gentle fingertips down the inside of Harry’s index and middle finger, while Harry struggles to not turn inside out entirely.

“There’s this stupid thing about relative finger lengths being indicative of sexuality, I think it’s… huh, yours are pretty much equal. Sorry. No conclusive findings.”

Harry wiggles further down under the comforter, and there’s something about this which makes him feel like nothing really matters, because it is just the two of them, and what’s the problem, here, really? Why does she keep stalling?

“Louis?”

“Yeah?”

“Can I kiss you some more?”

Louis just snorts at him, and then nods, shrugging.

“Well, I guess that might be a better way of figuring out sexuality than what I was suggesting…”

Harry turns into him, already grinning.

“Shut up Louis.”

…

On reflection, Louis probably should have stopped it, at some point.

But it is really hard, when you are in the moment, to figure out when things might be going.

How people might react.

…

Harry rolls into Louis, after some making out that could have lasted a split second or forever, the timings seem irrelevant to Louis. And now they are pressed together head to toe, and Louis doesn’t really register how hard Harry is breathing, because he’s too busy trying to stop his heart from feeling like it is about to beat out of his chest.

The kisses are  _ so good. _ Louis wants so much, and Harry seems happy to give, happy to accept Louis' kisses, and let Louis pull Harry’s hands towards his hips, and arch his body into Harry, as Harry’s fingers trace bare skin.

“Fuck, Louis…. _ fuck.” _

Harry mumbles it into his mouth, and Louis can’t really help the reaction that he has to it, doesn’t really think about the way he rolls on top of Harry, the way he lets a hand slide up to Harry’s nipple.

It’s only over his top, but Harry still takes a shaky little breath in, and Louis lifts his head slightly, glancing at Harry’s eyes to see if there are any warning signals.

There aren’t any, just really blown pupils, and Louis dips down, to kiss at the skin where Harry’s pulse point is, earning a sigh.

“Is this okay?”

Harry nods vaguely, and arches his torso up into Louis' hand, and despite the layers Louis is certain that he can feel a hardened nipple pressing against his palm, and he groans softly.

“You feel really good.”

Harry mumbles something incomprehensible, and this time when Harry’s hips twitch upwards, he doesn’t freeze, and Louis can feel the way that Harry’s fingers flex at the skin of his hips, like he wants to do more but can’t fully gather the courage.

Louis smiles, and then nuzzles slightly at Harry’s neck, enjoying the way Harry moves underneath him, and tilts his head back, allowing Louis better access. Louis kisses at his exposed collar bone, and then moves back to Harry’s mouth, kissing once at Harry’s lower lip, and then sucking once, running his tongue over the soft flesh.

He means to lift his head, afterwards, to slow things down and let Harry recover, but when he does move away, Harry rises up to chase him, kissing hard. And two hands appear at the back of his head, to run fingers through his hair and  _ grip _ , and  _ fuck _ , that’s always Louis' weak spot, always, always.

And then Harry keeps coming, keeps reaching up, until Louis has to fall onto his back, and now Harry’s body is pressing down into him. The mattress creaks underneath him with the sudden movement, and Louis realizes that now there’s a hand moving up to  _ his _ nipple, and Harry learns quickly, he’ll give him that.

There’s no hesitation, and then Louis registers a mouth on his neck, and teeth grazing, before sucking once to sooth, and fuck, fuck fuck  _ fuck. _

“Harry-  _ jesus. _ ”

Louis moves his own hand up to where Harry’s is still palming his chest, and encourages Harry to squeeze, relishing the sensation.

Harry grunts above him, and then there’s another hip roll, and Louis feels as though he had forgotten how hot just making out could be, even with everyone’s clothes still on.

After another moment, Harry seems to remember where he is, or possibly who he is, and rolls off Louis, falling to his side. Louis turns into him, cupping his face and kissing him like this is the start of something wonderful, and who knows?

Harry moves his lips away from his, and tilts his head, resting his forehead on Louis' and breathing unsteadily.

“Louis, I don’t… what is happening?”

What? Louis thinks it is pretty obvious what is happening, namely; some pretty hot making out. So he frowns slightly, and takes one of Harry’s hands, twisting fingers together.

“ _ This _ is happening Harry. It feels good.”

Harry bites at his lip, and something in his eyes seems to change, but Louis is too busy trying to figure out how to make  _ this _ keep happening to register what might be going on up in there.

“I don’t- this isn’t…”

Louis don’t know what makes him do it, but he moves Harry’s hand lower, until his fingers nudge against the waistband of the sweats Harry is wearing, and then plants another kiss on Harry’s mouth.

“Touch yourself.”

Harry pretty much just gasps into Louis' mouth with shock, and so Louis kisses him again, more firmly this time.

“Touch yourself. And then you tell me what is happening.”

Harry groans, and Louis worries whether he’s gone too far, whether this is make Harry crack, somehow. But then Harry kisses him back, as his hand disappears into his sweatpants, and  _ holy fuck  _ that visual is hot.

Harry moans, and then closes her eyes tight, as if it is  _ that  _ sensory field which has just been really surprized. Louis kisses at his neck once, and then moves up to his ear, flicking a tongue over the lobe vaguely.

“Yeah?” Louis breathes it out quietly, and Harry nods several times, as if he can’t fully believe the answer. And Louis feels his own arousal re-double, just imagining what Harry’s fingers have encountered, and presses his mouth to Harry’s, tracing his tongue over Harry’s lips until Harry opens his mouth, and gives Louis access.

It’s not so much a kiss as open mouths, moving against each other, but it is  _ really  _ working for Louis. And, after, a moment, Louis registers that Harry’s hidden hand isn’t still, but is now a vaguely moving shape, underneath the material, and  _ oh fuck, oh fuck _ .

“God, that’s so fucking hot, keep doing it.”

Harry mumbles out a swear word, and then uses his free hand to cup the back of Louis' neck, kissing him like he means it. And the movement brings their bodies even closer together, so now Louis can no longer see the movement in Harry’s pants, but instead can  _ feel  _ it, against his hip bone, and Louis can’t decide which option is better, when they both feel pretty fucking amazing.

Harry gasps, and then gasps again, as though things are escalating quicker than he expected, and that could be the tag line for this entire evening but Louis loves it, loves how raw this feels.

So he kisses at Harry’s mouth, and then bites gently at his lower lip, before flicking his tongue over it rapidly in an instinctive demonstration of what he’d  _ really _ like to be doing. Harry grunts, and then moans, and something about the tension in his body tells Louis that he’s straining, somehow, as if he knows where he wants to be but can’t get there quick enough.

It’s fucking hot. It’s all a bit too fucking hot.

And the thought translates to Louis' hand tracing down Harry’s arm, and running questioning fingers over the rapidly moving shape underneath Harry’s clothes. And the tempo of the movement seems to increase, as a direct reaction, and Louis moans, can’t help himself.

“Louis,  _ fuck _ , I can’t…”

Louis lets his fingers press harder, trying to encourage.

“Jesus fuck don’t stop Harry, so fucking hot, you  _ can _ , just keep doing it…”

Harry whimpers, and then turns his head sideways, trying to bury his face in the pillow, and Louis kisses at his neck, kisses at his collar bone, all the while running his fingers over the movement between Harry’s legs.

It’s going to happen. Louis can tell. Harry’s going to orgasm, and the only thing that Louis needs right now is to watch it happen.

So he presses, a little harder. And says the first thing that comes to his mind.

“Do it Harry, and then you can watch me touch  _ myself _ , because…”

The rest of the sentence isn’t needed, because that’s when Harry’s hips twitch in a certain way, and Louis spreads his fingers, trying to feel  _ everything _ , as the movement changes and Harry goes tense beside him.

“Ugh- fuck,  _ Louis… _ ”

It’s a long moment of tension, and erratic hip movements, before Harry starts to relax slightly, and breathe again.

And then stays quiet, hand still in pants, pressed up against Louis.

Louis does his best to stay still, and not rush, because recovery time is important  _ generally,  _ and Louis has a feeling that for Harry, in this moment, it might be doubly so.

But after thirty seconds, he can’t really help himself, and brings his hand up to brush away some of the stray hair from Harry’s cheek, and kiss at the hot skin.

“So sexy baby.”

Harry doesn’t respond for a moment, and so Louis kisses again, because he wants to, because that’s what happens next.

And then Harry ducks his head down, and takes a deep breath in.

“Oh,  _ shit. _ ”

And then he sits up, and turns quickly to perch on the edge of the bed, away from Louis.

“Sorry.”

Wait, what? Louis can’t see that there is anything that needs apologizing for. He reaches a hand out to rest on Harry’s back, trying to ignore the way Harry’s seems to freeze underneath the pressure.

“Why? Don’t be sorry, what are you talking about?”

Harry clears his throat, and then moves further down the bed, away from Louis' touch, and Louis is propping himself up on his elbows now, trying to figure out the right thing to say.

“I lost control.”

Louis bites at his lip, because this is not a good reaction. He doesn’t know what to say, though, apart from the obvious, because he’s still really strung out.

“Yeah, um. I liked it?”

Harry stands, and runs two hands through his hair, looking stressed and trying to avoid looking at Louis.

“I should go, um, where are my sneakers?”

Louis sits up fully now, hugging his own knees to keep balance.

“They’re, uh, down there, I guess, but you really don’t have to go. I want you to stay.”

Harry ducks down to pick up his shoes quickly, and then scans the room blindly, looking everywhere but Louis.

“Um, no, I should go. I’ll… I’m sorry. I’ll let myself out.”

What the  _ fuck? _ Louis tries to marshal thoughts into order, but Harry’s already walking out of Louis' bedroom, like that’s a thing that he’s allowed to do, and Louis doesn’t know if he has the nerve to chase after him into the main room, doesn’t even know what he’d say.

And then, twenty seconds later, Louis hears his front door open, and that can’t have even been time for Harry to put on his sneakers, he must have just picked up his coat and walked out the door with his sneakers in hand, as if it was  _ that  _ important to get away.

And what the  _ fuck _ ?

What the actual  _ fuck? _

 


	14. Chapter Fourteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is part fourteen. Larry. SFW. All lies.   
> Thanks for the kudos and the love guys - your enthusiasm is one of the things that helps me keep ticking along. :)

 

 

 

Niall is bored.

He had planned to spend the Saturday night out with friends, but it had fallen through somehow, and Niall hadn’t really had the energy to organize something else, and Harry was off the radar, and the thought of going out for a drink solo wasn’t appealing.

So the upshot is that he is sitting on his couch mainlining chocolate covered pretzels and re-watching the second season of How I Met Your Mother. Because why not? No judging.

Sometimes having a social life is over-rated. Particularly because the other guys that he rents with are away for the night, or the weekend, and it is a rare occurrence that he has the place to himself. This is one of the few opportunities to do those things that he is slightly too self-conscious to do with an audience – like design elaborate dance routines to Disney hits and pretend that he is a celebrity chef while he makes grilled cheese sandwiches.

In fact, it is an action packed evening that he has planned. He doesn’t know how he is going to fit it all in- particularly as it is now quarter to eleven. But targets are supposed to be aspirational, right?

Niall is startled out of his reflection by the buzzer sounding, and he can’t help the automatic adrenaline rush that goes with it, because who calls unannounced at this time?

“Hello?”

“Hey Niall… let me up, will you?”

“Harry! What… I thought you were with Louis tonight?”

Harry sighs heavily, and the sound makes the speaker crackle, causing Niall to wince.

“Yeah… can I come up?”

…

This is… Niall doesn’t know what to do.

He makes it through the first five minutes, when Harry turns up at his door looking absolutely distraught, by exclaiming loudly over the fact that Harry has arrived wearing  _ sweatpants _ made for someone with about one less foot of height.

But Harry just looks at him steadily for a second, as Niall’s brain slowly makes the link between who Harry was seeing tonight, and under what circumstances people take off their pants.

There’s probably a perfectly innocent explanation. Probably.

“Um. Did you spill something on your pants or something?”

Harry shakes his head, and then the next thing Niall knows his eyes are brimming with tears, and oh god, quick, hugs.

…

He spends what has got to be at least ten minutes, making Niall’s shirt wet. And he feels a complete idiot, and his stomach is cramping up because Harry knows that he is going to  _ have  _ to do the ‘is Harry gay?’ conversation now, there’s no avoiding it.

And he’s got a headache because a significant majority of him wants to run for home and just pretend these last couple of months haven’t happened, but then the more rational side of him is insisting that he stays, because he can’t just keep running.

And the worst, the  _ absolute  _ worst thing, is that he isn’t entirely sure what he is crying about.

Niall feels like he is petting his hair awkwardly, and Harry has a momentary flash of insight in which he realizes that he is a grown ass man being cuddled by his best friend just over some making out that went awry.

So he sits up abruptly.

“Do you have any alcohol in your fridge? I could really use a drink.”

Niall takes too long to answer, or Harry can’t take the eye contact, so he makes his own way into the kitchen, with Niall trailing after him.

“Are you- I mean  _ yes,  _ obviously I have alcohol, but are you okay now? Do we not need to do the thing where you actually explain to me why you turn up on my doorstep crying?”

Harry jerks open the drawer which contains the bottle opener slightly too violently, and everything in there rattles. He paws around for a second, and gives Niall a half shrug.

“I wasn’t crying on your doorstep.”

He can hear the exasperation in his voice when he answers.

“Okay, sure, I was like  _ five minutes _ out, but the point remains Harry. What’s going on? I’m going to go ahead and assume that this is something to do with Louis, because he is the only thing in your life right now which is providing the slightest bit of excitement, and excitement comes with highs and lows.”

Rolling his eyes, because Niall has a habit of becoming insightful just when Harry needs it the least, he tugs open the refrigerator. He places a bottle of beer on the counter, and then looks at Niall inquiringly.

“Can I?”

Niall shrugs, and Harry pops the top, before moving back away from Niall towards his couch, sitting and then slumping himself down. His phone chimes, somewhere in his jacket, and he closes his eyes, as if that is going to help.

He really doesn’t want to consider who could be messaging him.

When he blinks his eyes open, Niall is standing in front of him, head cocked and hands on hips.

“So, I am getting some extremely mixed messages from you right now. Because your body language is essentially screaming ‘Don’t ask me about it!’, but if you really didn’t want to talk about it then you would have run home already, so…”

Harry takes a drink, and then nods vaguely, gesturing at him to sit.

“So go on then Niall, drag it out of me…”

…

He manages to build up a picture, eventually, by asking a chain of questions with only yes or no answers. And it would seem to be a picture that has Harry blushing a color that he has never seen on him before.

The final detail is proving slightly tricky to iron out though.

“Wait, let me just go through this again… did someone orgasm?”

Harry grits his teeth, and then nods.

“But you didn’t have sex?”

Harry shakes his head, and then presses the heel of his hand to his forehead, rubbing with a frustrated look on his face.

“No, but that’s another thing, like, where do the lines even lie, if it is two guys? What counts? Why is this all so unclear? This should be taught at school, no? Sex education?”

Niall flaps a hand, dismissing the question.

“No distraction techniques Harry, figure that one out for yourself. I hear it is all about self-definition, regardless. Did Louis orgasm?”

Harry’s blush finds a new gear, and he shakes his head. Okay.

“Okay, so you came. Was this… um. Was Louis influential in bringing about this orgasm, in any way? God Harry, stop looking at me like that, you hear about my sexploits all the time.”

“This is  _ different _ , Niall!”

“How? Come the fuck on Harry, I haven’t got all night.”

It’s a combination of tough love and pretending that what he is trying to explain is completely day to day and insignificant, and he can only hope that it will do the trick.

“For gods sake Niall – I came. I wasn’t supposed to.”

Niall presses two fingers to both of his temples, hoping to find sanity.

“Okay, does that even happen to guys? And, I mean, hashtag eww, let’s never speak of this again, but are you talking about premature ejaculation? Because-“

Harry briefly looks like he might punch him, but then seems to change his mind and instead swats a pillow into his face.

“Fuck  _ off  _ Niall, it is like you are being deliberately stupid. We were making out, and then Louis said something, and then I don’t fully know what happened, but I had my hand in  _ my _ pants, and Louis was encouraging me, and things happened a lot quicker than I expected. Okay? So riddle me that, Niall.”

_ Oh.  _ Oh. He gets it.

And, whoa, okay. Kinky.

Harry is sitting glaring at his beer bottle as if attempting to see whether he can make it shatter from sheer will power though, and so maybe this isn’t the time to discuss when Harry went from known prude to a person who gives himself orgasms in front of others.

He does have to get one thing out of the way though.

“Okay, firstly, can I just say, that is really, really gay.”

Harry grunts out a laugh, and then just flips him off, and sighs.

“Yeah, it kind of really was.”

…

After Harry leaves, Louis sends an email to his younger sister, asking how her course is going.

He then decides to clean the inside of the microwave.

He then arranges all the cushions on the couch neatly.

He then gives up, and returns to his bed, and jacks off until he comes, hard and fast at the memory of how Harry had come, just next to him. The way the pillow still smelt of Harry’s shampoo.

He then arranges his laundry into two piles, and puts a dark wash on, at… half past eleven at night, like that is a normal thing to do.

He then picks up his phone, and manages to avoid the impulse to text Harry, and instead text Stan, a quick nothing message asking how his show went.

And then Louis sits, staring at nothing.

He’s good at this sort of thing. Inactivity. It’s when he has his best ideas. Because he can just let his mind wander off into whichever universe he fancies, and not have to interrupt it with the day to day. Louis thinks that he must be the only person that he knows who enjoys long journeys with nothing to do.

So he sits, and he looks, and he manages a great deal of calmly not thinking about anything much to do the evening events at all.

Like the way that the boy he really likes flung himself out of Louis' bed like he’d just discovered Louis was actually a reptile underneath his clothes.

Doesn’t think about that at all.

He notices, after a moment, that his  _ Thoughts  _ book has been moved, and is now lying flat on the coffee table, closed. Louis wrinkles his nose, because even though he probably shouldn’t keep books propped open, he always does. Every one of his books has a destroyed spine.

Louis leans forward, to see if he can remember which page that he got up to, when he realizes that whoever moved the book has tucked a coaster inside it, at the correct page.

And the only person who could have moved it is Harry.

And so for some reason it is that tiny gesture of concern that has Louis tipping over the edge.

Because how  _ dare  _ Harry keep pretending that he could be the perfect boyfriend, while also being completely and utterly  _ useless? _

So he picks up his phone.

_ If this is all such a big mistake for you, Harry, then it is a big mistake for me too. Don’t try and get in touch. _

It’s sent before he can really think about it, and then Louis gets angry with Stan, briefly, because if Stan had been here then he would have at least run it past Stan, and Stan could have high kicked the phone out of his hands, if necessary.

Whatever. Gut reactions are usually correct, right?

…

Harry reminds Niall of a cat, somehow, silently circling conversation topics to see if they are dangerous.

“Firstly, you are not allowed to say anything about what I should have done while I was with Louis, because I don’t know if I’m ever going to be able to look at him again without wanting to throw myself off a bridge through shame.”

Niall crosses his legs at the ankles, and pouts mournfully at Harry.

“But Harry, you know that I’m excellent at wisdom in hindsight.”

Harry puts his hands over his face.

“Don’t, I can’t even… deal, with that right now. I might die of embarrassment. I can never speak to him again. He must think…”

Niall interrupts, because from where he is sitting this sure as hell doesn’t look like the end of the world.

“-he probably thought it was really hot.”

That earns him another cushion, this time whacked into his stomach, and Niall giggles.

“What? I’m just saying! But fine, okay, no Louis chat, we’ll figure out how to deal with that shit storm later. Can we talk about the other elephant in the room? The one waving a pride flag from its trunk?”

Harry shrugs, and manages to sink even further into his couch.

“I’ve been reading into it. Cause, you know. I like to be prepared.”

Niall nods, remembering how terrifying it was to share a study period with Harry, because he would have endless notebooks filled with handwritten notes on the  _ background _ of certain topics, things that weren’t even going to be in the exam. While Niall would doodle stick figures in the margin and wonder why time was going so slowly.

“Yes? And what did your extensive academic research tell you about your own sexuality?”

Harry shrugs, and inspects his thumb nail.

“That nothing is ever definite. Ever, it would seem. Like, some articles were saying that sometimes extreme admiration and a desire to emulate manifests itself as sexual attraction.”

Niall takes a moment to translate that, and then rolls his eyes.

“Oh, what, now you just want to be Louis? Seriously Harry? Because I don’t even know where to start on that one…”

Harry flips him off, and shrugs.

“No. I know I’m attracted to Louis. It’s just… I’m just saying that it is really hard to be definite about anything. My brain doesn’t seem to be dedicating any time to figuring this out, because it is too busy focusing on Louis.”

Niall reaches for his sympathy beer, and takes a sip.

“If you are going to start giving me some bullshit about how you think you are straight  _ except  _ for Louis, and Louis is the only guy, then you are going to get some hard truths from me, Harry, because you and I both know what literally  _ no-one  _ functions in that way, it’s just a flimsy excuse used by people who don’t want to be gay.”

Harry frowns at him, and then flaps a hand, seeming to try and calm him.

“Can you stop… being so militant, right now? I’m just saying I’m still processing, really. But have somehow managed to get myself in a really weird position with Louis, where I feel bad that I’m not further along that I am. While  _ simultaneously _ hoping to never have to speak to him again, so that’s healthy.”

Niall makes a mental effort to reign it in, because Harry is looking like he is fraying around the edges again, and this is a hell of a lot further than they’ve ever gotten before.

“One last thing; which is the bigger issue right now? The fact that you are behaving like a homosexual, or the fact that Louis might think you are an ass?”

Harry rolls his eyes.

“Oh, what a buffet of delights. The Louis one, obviously. The gay thing… isn’t an issue as such. It’s that fact that it seems to have made me lose all rational thought processes that I’m having issue with it.”

Niall grunts, because at least Harry’s picked the healthier of the two options, and reaches a hand over, patting him on the knee.

“Have you… heard, anything? From Louis?”

Harry glances guilty once at his jacket near the door, and then shrugs.

“I haven’t checked my phone. I kind of… I don’t think I  _ can _ , right now.”

Niall observes him silently for a moment, and remembers his best friend duties.

“Want to crash with me tonight? We’ll stop talking about this and play Mario Kart instead; see if you can still kick my butt.”

Harry brightens, and leans into him, giving him a quick hug.

“Sure, Niall. Thanks.”

As he heads into his room, to dig out some pyjamas for Harry, Niall figures he’s made the right call. Most of the problems seem to have been caused by going too fast. Nothing wrong with taking some of the urgency out of the situation.

…

 

 

 


	15. Chapter Fifteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part Fifteen. This is a very AU Larry story.  
> Thank you for reading (and being patient) :)

So, it would appear that Stan has missed the apocalypse.

Because when he returns to the apartment, everything is suspiciously clean. The sort of clean that it hasn’t been since Louis broke up with Alex.

Oh…kay.

As a way of confirming his suspicions, Stan checks the inside of the microwave. Yup. Gleaming as if it has just been brought home from the store.

With a sigh, Stan heads off to his room, and dumps his overnight bag on his bed, briefly unpacking and tossing his dirty clothes into the laundry. He then wanders into Louis' room, where the door is just ajar, feeling one hundred percent confident that he isn’t about to be disturbing a romantic love nest.

Louis looks dead to the world, splayed out on his front in his usual starfish sleep pose, with one foot poking out from under the comforter. This room seems to have been the only one that hasn’t been cleaned, and there’s a weird arrangement of macbook and empty mugs and one discarded pillow, on the floor. Stan has the feeling that if he was Sherlock Holmes he’ll be able to take one glance at the set up and figure out exactly what went on.

Unfortunately, he is going to have to resort to move traditional methods of enquiry.

“Louis?”

Louis grunts, and moves his head slightly, but other than that doesn’t seem to recognize Stan’s immediate need for answers. Stan reaches forward, and wraps a hand around Louis' ankle, tugging slightly.

“Louis? Wake up, asshole.”

Louis jumps slightly, and then reality seems to hit him all at once, and he flicks his foot to get Stan to release it, and then turns over, rubbing one hand over his eyes and flipping Stan off with the other.

“S... get out of my room.”

Stan sits on the edge of his bed, and pokes at Louis.

“Why, I’m clearly not interrupting anything.”

Louis sits up, seems to look for a second for something to throw at Stan’s head, and then gives up, shrugging.

“No. You aren’t. But I feel like I  _ just  _ got to sleep, and is a lie in so much to ask on a Sunday morning?”

Automatically, Stan checks his watch.

“Louis… it’s like twelve thirty.”

Louis blinks, and then tilts his head back to check the window, where the sun is high in the sky and the rest of the city is doing normal, Sunday afternoon things. He then looks back at Stan.

“I didn’t get to sleep till gone five.”

Stan shrugs.

“That’s still a healthy seven hours sleep. Wars have been won on less. Would you care to explain why the apartment is so clean? The microwave looks like it has been exorcised of demons.”

Louis shrugs, and tucks his knees up to his chin, looking down at his bedside table.

“Felt like doing some cleaning.”

Stan waits for further explanation, and when none appears to be forth-coming, tries to prod the conversation along.

“Is this the new gay foreplay now? Sterilise an apartment together?”

Louis smiles vaguely, and then murmurs, “No. I did it by myself.”

Ahh. Well, obviously, Stan hadn’t thought that Louis had actually had a date with Harry that ended in frenzied joint cleaning, but it pays to rule out every possibility. Louis fixes his hair in a few deft moves, and then runs out of things to do with his hands, dropping them into his lap helplessly.

“I think… I think I’m done with Harry, actually. So.”

Stan chews on his bottom lip, vaguely, trying to elaborate a scenario which could cause Louis to go from adorable loved up puppy to Ice Queen.

He gives up. This is neither the time nor the place for  _ theories _ . He wants facts. So he leans over, and pats Louis on the knee.

“Come on Tommo. Up and showered, please. And then we should go eat something which will make our digestive systems hate us, yes? Pancakes with squirty cream, that sort of thing. And to hell with the consequences.”

Louis rolls his neck a couple of times, working out a crick, and then nods, firmly.

“Yes. Sounds good.”

…

Harry is frowning at his phone, next to his jacket at the door, when Niall emerges from his room, dressed and ready to face the day. He tries to ask the question airily, as if the answer is of no great consequence.

“Anything from Louis?”

He gets a quick wave of the screen, like he can read it from the other side of the room, and then Harry shrugs.

“Yeah. Um. He says that we shouldn’t see each other anymore.”

Niall bends to tie his shoelaces, because he thinks that Harry might want a brief second of private reaction time, and then straightens, hands on hips.

“Are you going to send a message back?”

Cramming his phone into his back pocket, Harry pushes a hand through his hair, looking blank.

“I don’t… maybe. I don’t know. I’m clearly not on the same page as Louis at all. He wants more than I think I can deal with, right now.”

Niall moves over to the door, rubbing Harry on the shoulder once vaguely, and then reaching for his jacket, shrugging into it.

“Do you want to cancel? Bit of head space?”

Harry blinks at him a few times, and then shakes his head, looking like he is trying very hard to look fine.

“No, what? We had like… three dates tops. It’s hardly… I’m okay. I’m fine. Probably for the best. And I’ve mentally braced myself for this shopping trip now. Let’s get it done.”

Niall thinks about prodding, but Harry’s gritting his teeth, and Niall is too much of a diplomat to force someone to talk about something that they don’t want to talk about (last night notwithstanding). So he shrugs, and decides to let Harry process this however he wants.

“Okay, and thank god, because this shopping excursion is long overdue, god knows I have been complaining about your clothing choices for long enough…”

“I swear to god Niall, if this is going to be a full day of abuse then I’m calling time right now.”

“Oh just shut up and get out of the door…”

He slaps him on the butt once as he passes, for good measure, before closing the door behind him.

As Niall follows him down the corridor towards the elevators, he decides abruptly that Louis and Harry are not over.

Not if he has anything to do with it.

It’s not meddling. It’s called being a helpful friend.

…

This is the best place for pancakes in their zip code. And seeing as their zip code is one of the most densely populated places in the US, that’s saying something.

Louis likes it because it is always warm in here, and the servers now know him and Stan by sight, and just wave them towards their favorite table, the one in the corner.

There’s glass jars on the counter, that cover impressive looking cakes and stacks of brownies.

And the jar of maple syrup is always left on each table, as well as a whole plethora of other sweet condiments, like nutella and jelly and fluff, and each visit is pretty much instant diabetes. Which is why him and Stan don’t visit often, but when they do they settle in for at least a couple of hours and really fucking  _ commit. _

Louis feels like committing. He’s worn the loosest pair of pants available to him (not the loosest he owns. Harry decided to walk out of his life wearing those).

He’s good to go.

Louis also appreciates the fact that this place doesn’t just have the newspapers of the day, stacked up in a pile for customers to borrow, but also a back catalog of a range of magazines, from at least the last three months. Stan wanders over to the pile, and roots out a couple, while Louis settles into the corner, and checks his phone without thinking about it.

Nothing.

And then he remember why he was checking his phone, and what he was hoping for. And when Stan sits down opposite him, Louis knows there is a frown creasing his forehead.

Stan nods at the phone.

“Want to talk about it?”

“Nope.”

Stan looks like he has to restrain from rolling his eyes, but then just reaches over for the menu, patting Louis on the back of the hand vaguely.

“Okay. Let’s order something unhealthy, and then you can hear about my night instead, because I have something I actually do want to talk about.”

…

Niall has been asking to take him clothes shopping for at least six months, he thinks.

It’s been a steady, drip drip technique of persuasion, lines about how certain outfits on various people would suit him, gifts which seem to only focused on changing his style, and something that Niall refers to as ‘loving abuse’.

Harry begrudgingly acknowledges that a style overhaul is probably due, because since moving to Brooklyn and starting at his job, all he has bought are clothes for office wear. Because the concept of having a life outside the office had seemed wildly irrelevant.

In fact it is only really these past couple of months, since Louis has been orbiting his life, that Harry has felt any sort of dis-satisfaction with his wardrobe choices.

He is disinclined to draw any correlation between those two incidents, and in fact mentally retreats from the whole concept of Louis.

Because when he thinks about Louis there is this hollow ache, which throbs in his chest and at the palms of his hands.

And the sensation of his phone, tucked into his jacket pocket, weighs heavy.

And he can remember how Louis had tasted of hot chocolate and possibilities and  _ potential. _

God, he’s such a fucking idiot.

“Harry? Harry. Hello?”

Harry finds himself again, standing at the corner of a street, as the sun dips lower in the sky, and Niall tilts his head to one side, looking concerned.

“What do you think then? Is this enough for today?”

He holds up the multiple bags of clothes, which are now Harry’s possessions, apparently. Harry looks down at his own matching bags, and frowns. Because his feet are tired. But going home means having time to think.

And burn up with embarrassment. And nope. Nope. Delay that for as long as possible.

“Do you think we could see about getting me some new sneakers? Also, will there be a hair salon open at this time on a Sunday?”

Niall grins, and then gestures with his elbow to which direction they are going to need to walk in.

“Oh please, do you know where you live Harry? Of course there will be a place open.”

Harry falls into step with him, and rests his head on his shoulder, briefly.

“I love you, bro.”

Niall grunts vaguely.

“I’ll get everything dealt with Harry, don’t worry.”

Harry isn’t sure how much of his life he is referring to, but he appreciates his confidence.

…

Louis is looking at Stan with wide eyes, from across their second round of pancakes.

“Stan, that’s… wow! You said it had gone well last night, but you didn’t mention- why didn’t you tell me about that immediately?”

Stan ducks his head down, feeling like he should affect  _ some  _ modesty, and reaches for the syrup.

“Well, I would have, but then the apartment was all cleaned to near hospital levels, and I got distracted.”

Louis looks at him like he’s gone crazy, and then leans forward, seeming out-raged at Stan’s understated reaction.

“ _ Stan… _ being booked into Carolines is a big deal. Three nights amazing!”

Stan shrugs, even as he performs a pirouette internally.

“I’m only headlining one- the other two are supporting slots.”

“Yes, but, I mean, we’ve done the open mike nights there, but to be booked. They’ll pay you in real human dollars.”

Raising his eyebrows, Stan nods, and grins.

“Means I don’t have to walk the streets for that weekend, at least.”

Louis sits back in his chair, and grins back, shaking his head at Stan.

“That’s awesome… that’s so awesome… when is this happening? When do I come and heckle like a bitch?”

Waving at the server, and pointing at his empty coffee mug with a smile, Stan bites his lip.

“Not for a while. End of next month. Their quiet season, obviously.”

Louis rolls his eyes, probably at Stan’s determination to not get over excited about this. But Stan has known bookings which have fizzled into nothing, so he sure as hell isn’t getting pumped about this yet.

“Whatever – I’ll do the excitement  _ for  _ you, shall I? You’ve got six weeks, then, to figure out how to not shit yourself extravagantly on stage.”

“Oh please, I was thinking of making that part of my act…”

Louis snorts and makes a noise of disgust at the same time, and Stan grins, ducking his head as if to say  _ you’re welcome. _ Louis pulls a face, and murmurs ‘that might be a bit specialist for the crowd…’

Stan laughs loudly, and Louis smiles at him, with that look on his fact that he gets sometimes, when he wants to say something real, but isn’t sure how to.

After a moment he clears his throat.

“This has put me in a really good mood. I’m happy. Thank you.”

Stan waves a hand, because as delighted as he is that Louis' mood has improved, that wasn’t the sole reason for Stan accepting the gig.

“Whatever. I’m glad. Can we talk about why you weren’t in a good mood beforehand yet? Bear in mind that if you won’t tell me I can just ask Niall, who is far more direct in his interrogation methods.”

Louis grunts, and then pokes at his pancake, vaguely.

“Um. Harry had second thoughts. You know. Exactly what I was pretending wasn’t likely to happen at some point. Everything got a bit real, and then he ran out of our apartment.”

Stan raises his eyebrows with an obvious question.

“And what was he doing up in our apartment? He’d already requested that the night get scaled back because he was feeling overwhelmed.”

Shrugging, Louis has the decency to look slightly guilty.

“Well yeah, but then, I don’t know. We were  _ just _ talking, but then I suggested we go up, cause it is just over the street, obviously, and there’s a limit to how much coffee I can take.”

Stan takes a sip of his replenished coffee, and drawls out his next question.

“ _ Soooo…” _

“So. Um. There was stuff happening. And then he ran away.”

Nah, balls. For as much as he likes Harry, and how entertaining it has been watching Louis' face light up every time he gets a message from Harry, Stan is pretty sure that this counts as a pretty bad move on Harry’s part. Because nothing would spook Louis like having someone who he is getting attached to show fear or reluctance when shit got really gay.

He doesn’t vocalize any of this though, but instead looks automatically at Louis' phone, silent on the table next to him.

“And then? What’s he said?”

Louis shrugs, and doesn’t meet Stan’s eye.

“Nothing. I pretty much sent him a message not to bother, so.”

“Oh, smart, Tomlinson. Well done.”

Rolling his eyes, Louis shrugs.

“Whatever. He hasn’t, so.”

Louis lapses into silence, and Stan is left wondering how to fill the gap. It’s not often that he is lost for words, but this is one of those moments. The server comes by, to ask if they want anything further. Louis catches Stan’s eye, and he shakes his head.

“Just the bill please. Thanks.”

Louis seems to notice Stan’s sudden gloom, and smiles brightly at him, in a way that almost rings true.

“Don’t worry about it S. There was always a high chance it would pan out like this.”

Stan nods once, and watches as Louis seems to half reach for his phone, before changing his mind, and cramming his hand into his pocket instead.

Stan decides that the  _ second _ he is alone, he is getting in touch with Niall.

…


	16. Chapter Sixteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading :)

This is stupid.

Harry presses the heels of his palms into his eyes, and rubs slightly, as if things will be clearer when he drops his hands.

Things aren’t though, and instead he is still sitting in his office chair, staring at the document that he has had open for the past hour, unseeing.

He can’t concentrate.

It’s been almost a week of turning up to work and operating on something like fifty percent productivity.

And Harry is reasonably confident that he can’t get sacked for a week of being a little bit useless, particularly because he is usually so good at keeping on top of his to do pile that sometimes he has to wait around for the next task to turn up. He’s built up a kind of buffer, in that sense.

But Harry isn’t used to this.

Previously, when a relationship had ended, Harry had felt down when he was at home, with nothing to occupy him, but could compartmentalize well enough when he was in the office. It didn’t impact on his  _ work. _

But this is unheard off. Being unable to function beyond even performing the most basic tasks is a whole world of frustration.

It isn’t even as though they were dating, for god’s sake.

And then Louis had  _ told him  _ not to bother. Which was convenient, because the last thing Harry ever wanted to do was meet Louis' eyes ever again.

What kind of person getting themselves off right next to the other person, before they are even officially dating?

Harry considers himself lucky that Louis hasn’t chosen to press charges.

Niall thinks he is being an idiot, of course. And maybe, in his most lucid moments, Harry recognizes that he might have a point.

In those moments, he’s just plain angry with Louis.

Because he’d said to Louis, the  _ entire evening  _ had been one long discussion about how Harry didn’t think that he was ready for this. That he was feeling like a very tentative gay, at best. How that conversation had ended up with Harry getting himself off he’ll never know, but Harry is pretty sure that he wasn’t thinking straight, in every sense of the word.

“Hey.”

Harry nearly jumps out of his skin, and then tries to pretend that he wasn’t just caught in the act of being a million miles away, sitting on the edge of Louis' bed, burning up with shame.

“Whoa! God… Fionn, hi. Sorry, you startled me.”

Fionn holds up a hand in apology, and then smiles.

“Sorry. I was just wondering if you were done for the day? I was planning on going to get a drink, if you wanted to join me?”

Harry blinks, and then checks the time in the corner of the screen. Yeah, time to get out here.

“Um, sure. I’ll just, hang on, let me just close this down…”

Harry feels uncomfortably like he is being watched, this is crazy, of course, because Fionn is right there, and of course he is watching Harry, it would be weird if he wasn’t.

So he straightens up, and grins.

“Okay, so, where do you fancy?”

Fionn cocks his head to one side, and shrugs, still looking at Harry.

“Whatever. By the way, I don’t think I said before, but I really like this…”

Fionn reaches up to his face, and for one horrifying moment Harry worries that Fionn is about to stroke his hair, and serves away, automatically.

“Um, thanks. So, uh, shall we go? I’m actually pretty tired.”

…

It’s one of the weirdest drinks of his life.

Harry realizes, about ten minutes in, why Niall had asked if he was sure, about wearing these flowery headbands. Because this hairband seems to have led to this very strange conversation that he is having with Fionn, the near stranger.

The one about how Fionn is completely in love with his girlfriend, and very excited about his up coming wedding.

But how Fionn also wonders whether he has fully explored his sexual appetites.

Just to be sure.

Because a person can’t fully commit to a life long relationship without being certain, can they, certain that they are making the right choice?

And how maybe he should kiss a boy, sometime. That’s very on trend, he hears. Boys kissing boys.

And what’s it like, Harry? Kissing a boy.

Harry manages to escape the conversation after half an hour, in which Fionn touches his knee  _ four times, _ by claiming an approaching migraine. Slash the dawning horror that he is getting hit on. And if this was a woman he’d be claiming sexual harassment in the work place

Well, no, he wouldn’t have, because if it was a woman he would have noticed sooner earlier, and removed himself from the situation faster.  _ And  _ Harry isn’t the type of person that gets propositioned, and definitely not from straight laced, sensible colleagues.

In fact, by the time he has unlocked his door, and is stepping into his apartment, Harry isn’t fully sure whether he just imagined the entire thing.

His  _ first  _ instinct, his very first one, is to message Louis, but there’s a hundred and one reasons why that isn’t an option.

_ Hi, I know I haven’t spoken to you at all since I ran out of your bedroom having just orgasmed next to you, but I think I just got hit on by another man; care to discuss? _

Like he says, not an option.

Liam is sitting on one of the couches, and Harry has a moment in which he remembers that he does actually live with other people. When was the last time he spoke to Liam?

“Hey bro, how was your day?”

Liam smiles, and puts his magazine down, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Long, you know? But okay. Do you ever just feel like you are working with no real goal in mind- just doing it because you are supposed to?”

Harry nods, because that does sound very familiar, maybe that’s what everyone in this crazy city does, ends up working at something uninspiring because it is what they are  _ expected _ to do.

“Oh, yeah. I know that feel.”

Liam raises his eyebrows briefly, and pushes a hand through his bangs, sweeping them to one side.

“Well, this has been me, all week. Living to work – my mom always tells me it should be the other way around.”

Harry nods, and busies himself with putting his bag down on the floor, and hanging his new jacket up on his hook by the door. When he turns back to Liam, he is still being watched.

“Hey, by the way, Zayn had said you’d got some cool new headbands, let me see?”

He really doesn’t know why he is shy about this, but Harry can feel his own reluctance as he takes off the flowery headband and shows it to Liam.

“Oh, it’s nothing, I just, think it’s nice… Though I pretty much keept it hidden under the curls at work. Got to be professional.”

Liam tips his head to one side, and smiles.

“Awesome. That looks awesome. You shouldn’t hide something that suits you that much.”

Harry feels his own hands start to do something weird, like try to wave off the compliment, but then his phone buzzes, and he tugs it out of his back pocket.

“Aaah, it’s Niall, I said I’d call him, do you mind…?”

“No, of course not…” Liam waves him away with a smile, and Harry grins awkwardly, pushing his door open with his foot and clicking it shut behind him with a sigh.

“Hey Niall.”

“Heeeey, what are you doing tonight?”

Harry snorts, and says “A better question would have been  _ what could I have been doing tonight?  _ Or  _ who? _ ”

There’s a pause, while Niall apparently readjusts his line of thought, and Harry starts unbuttoning his shirt with one hand, frowning at himself in the mirror.

“Okay, what? I was calling to ask if you wanted to go for a drink, not to engage in some kind of metaphysical conversation with you. But go on, what  _ could _ you have been doing?”

Harry starts laughing at his own answer before he’s even finished answering the question.

“I could have been doing this boy from the office… Niall, what is going on? I’ve just come home from a weird, seriously unprofessional drink with a colleague, and I’ve just been speaking to Liam who is all complimentary about my headbands, and before I’d have been like  _ thanks for being friendly _ , but now I’m paranoid that he is trying to hit on me in some way too! Real talk Niall; am I having a nervous breakdown?”

Niall laughs loudly, and then giggles through his own response.

“No, you complete moron, you are just noticing when men hit on you now. I swear to god I have been telling you forever that boys are attracted to you.”

Harry makes a face, and then scoffs.

“What? No you haven’t Niall.”

“No, well I’ve been thinking it. Really hard. You should have noticed.”

Harry shrugs, and then sits down on his bed, flicking off his shoes. Niall carries on.

“Though Liam is the straightest guy I have ever met, so you have no concerns there. And as for you co-worker, let me guess…. Fionn? The one who you mentioned was getting married soon?”

Harry nearly drops the phone.

“Yes, Niall, what the fuck, how did you know, have you got a wire on me or something?”

Niall shushes at him, and Harry can tell that he is rolling his eyes as he speaks.

“No, but come on Harry. It’s like every cliché ever. Young guy about to get married, attractive friendly gay suddenly appears, that’s you by the way, in this scenario, suddenly boy is wondering whether he should fuck the gay just as a final litmus test of his own sexuality.”

Harry squints at his phone for a second.

“Niall, I’m sure half of the things you come out with are utter bullshit. I have never heard of that- is there some kind of info pamphlet that people are issued with when they realize they are gay? Or are you making up facts again?”

Niall gasps, and then says “How dare you  _ question _ my knowledge… but yes, I am just making this up. Though I’m sure I’ve heard of it happening at least  _ once  _ before. Anyway, will you stop getting so stressed out over things? A boy flirted with you. It does not merit an aneurysm.”

Harry rubs a hand over his face, and tries to shake it off. Because Niall is right, to an extent. Maybe he has been flirted with before and never noticed. Hell, he’s got pretty clear evidence of that in his most recent romantic history.

He clears his throat, unwilling to go down that path.

“So a drink, huh? Sounds good, I could do with getting out of here for a bit. What sort of time were you thinking?”

“Around ten for going out? But come over early, we’ll order pizza. And awesome, by the way, you’ve been far too reclusive. Bring a bag, you can stay at mine.”

Harry grunts, unsure when a drink developed into a sleep over, but anything to stop him from spending another night sitting in his bed watching shitty tv shows that Louis introduced him to.

“Sure bro, sounds good. Give me like… an hour. I’ll get ready at yours.”

“Bring your new clothes, Harry. And you new hair stuff. Later.”

Harry starts to say something, but Niall has already hung up, and it’s probably for the best.

Okay. Going out. Shower.

…

Louis is not going out tonight.

He’s tired, and he feels like he is coming down with something, and the last couple of nights have been two vaguely successful shows at different open mic nights, which are  _ fun _ but have taken it out of him in a way they don’t usually.

He knows why, of course. He’s had to pretend to be in a good mood. Whereas he usually just is.

But it is gone eleven, and he’s had a bath, and is in his robe, and the apartment is warm, and this movie isn’t completely shit. Things could be worse, he decides.

It’s one of the rare Friday nights when Stan is in too, and they’re both sitting on different couches, fooling about on the internet in silence.

See? It’s good, sometimes. To not have to think about anyone else.

Because he’s not thinking about anyone else. Nope. It’s just him, his computer, and the crappy movie. As it should be.

It’s a testament to how far he has come, how excellent his progress has been this week, that when his phone lights up Louis  _ doesn’t  _ grab for it, because it isn’t going to be Harry. In fact, even if it was Harry, it would be of little to no consequence to Louis, and thus not merit any excitement whatsoever.

It is Harry.

_ I got some new hairbands. People seem to like them. _

Louis blinks for several long seconds at his phone. And then puts it down on his lap.

A week of no communication, and then all Louis gets is a  _ hair  _ update?

Before he has even had time to process that, there’s another message.

_ Miss talking to you about stuff. _

_ And now Niall has taken me out to this place and there are drinks and I just really want to be somewhere quiet and talk to you. _

_ Too many people here. _

_ Do you think I’m a creep? _

Louis glances at Stan, but he’s got his earphones in and isn’t paying any attention. Besides, Louis is a grown man. He can deal with some messages.

_ I don’t think you are a creep, no. _

Immediately after he sends it Louis realizes that the best option would have been to ignore the messages. And pretend that he is out, being busy, popular and successful. Dammit.

_ But you are angry with me? _

_ Yes. _

Louis is pretty pleased with that one, though. A bald yes, no room for negotiation or interpretation there.

_ That figures. _

_ I’m angry with me too. Sometimes. Most times. _

Something connects in Louis' head, and he messages back.

_ Have you been drinking Harry? Is Niall there now? _

_ Just had some, you know. For the dancing. Also this place is scary. Boys like the flowery stuff Niall got me. I need drinks in order to function. Can’t do the talking thing otherwise. _

Louis stares at the message, and lifts his thumb up to his mouth, chewing the corner automatically. Because he  _ swears to god _ , if Niall has abandoned Harry at some gay bar Louis doesn’t even care what the relationship is between him and Harry, he’ll tear him a new one.

_ Niall back now. _

_ Niall wants my phone. Thinks I shouldn’t message you. _

_ God just rtying to have a conversation. _

_ Bye Louis. _

_ You are lovely. sorry. _

Louis can feel his face do a thing, and then he opens up the reply box, but stalls, not willing to answer if Niall is going to be the one receiving the message.

He glances over at Stan, and nearly drops the phone when s\he realizes that Stan is staring at him, curiously. Stan nods at the phone.

“All okay?”

Louis nods a couple of times, and then makes a show of placing the phone next to him, deliberately going back to his computer screen.

“Yeah, just Lottie blah-ing about something. All good.”

Stan makes a non-committal noise, and then yawns unconvincingly.

“Okay. Anyway, I’m going to bed, I’m beat. Night Tommo.”

“Night.”

When Stan’s door clicks closed behind, Louis checks his phone again, to see if there are any more messages.

There aren’t.

Louis is a grown man. He isn’t going to stay up all night staring at his phone.

He  _ isn’t. _

…


	17. Chapter Seventeen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part Seventeen. This is a very AU Larry based on an anon prompt.
> 
> This is all lies. SFW. Thank you for reading, kudos-ing, bookmarking, commenting, etc. All appreciated SO HARD.

Harry is feeling…

Whoa. That person has nice shoes.

Harry is feeling like… this bar keeps looking at him. It’s dark in here, and objectively he knows that it is unlikely that everyone is looking at him, especially because some of the men in here seem very attractive and so surely everyone would be looking at them, but still.

He wants his phone back. Harry thinks that maybe if he could just carry on messaging Louis, by the time the end of the night arrived, everything could be fixed.

Maybe they could conduct the entirety of their future interactions via pixelated messages  _ only.  _ That could work.

“Niall…. Gimme my phone back, I was in the middle of something.”

Swiveling, Niall pouts at him, and oh, he is going to play the neglected friend card again, he hates that.

“Harry, this night is supposed to be about hanging out with me, no distracting yourself by sending alcohol dipped messages to Louis. Besides, though you are clearly in full control, I don’t want you sending anything that you regret. Cause, you know. It’s distracting in here.”

Harry eyes the shirt pocket that he knows contains  _ his  _ phone, but then blinks, pushing some hair out of his face. Because it is  _ loud  _ in here. He might get distracted. Niall is correct.

“Okay, but don’t lose it or anything. I need to finish my conversation with Louis at some point. I felt like I was making progress.”

“Towards what?”

Harry shrugs, and then shrugs again because the gesture feels good and  _ apt,  _ and then notices Niall watching him with an indecipherable look on his face, so flips him off, taking another long pull of his drink.

“Shut up. Stop looking at me like that.”

Niall smirks, and then reaches for his hand.

“Come on, I want to dance with you, it’s been forever since we’ve done this…”

…

It’s later.

And he’s having fun. This is fun.

They’re in a gay bar, obviously. Harry thinks he has been here once before, when Niall had insisted. He had felt vaguely uncomfortable, the whole time.

This time…

It might be the drink, or the hairstyle, or the new shirt, or some combination of everything above, but this time he doesn’t feel uncomfortably like he is being analysed. This time he is just here, having a good time.

Niall knows people, and Harry gets introduced to various people whose names he knows he will never remember, and there are one or two faces that he thinks that he recognizes vaguely, from somewhere, but none of that matters, because the music is good and he feels like dancing.

“Niall! Come on…”

Niall dances the next song with him, and there’s a whole group of people now, and it is good to just be here and feel anonymous and like maybe none of this really matters, at the end of it all.

Harry is also remembering that he is in possession of some pretty  _ awesome  _ dance moves, when he puts his mind to it.

…

Niall gets distracted for the length of… maybe, two songs, tops.

It’s just that he hasn’t seen Chris for  _ forever _ and having a quick catch up is pretty challenging in the middle of the dance floor. So he only goes to the side of the room and Harry is an  _ adult,  _ for christ’s sake. He doesn’t need a goddamn minder.

It is not his fault. Hell, it isn’t even that much of a disaster but, regardless, it is  _ not his fault _ .

…

Harry likes dancing.

It’s, hmmhm, Niall has gone somewhere, so Harry turns to this guy next to him, the one who maybe he thinks Niall might know, and gives him a grin, designed to communicate  _ dancing, huh? Isn’t it amazing? _

The guy seems to agree, and then there is just some dancing. Harry thinks that the phrase ‘shaking your butt’ isn’t meant to be a literal dance move instruction, but he definitely shakes his butt in a hypothetical manner.

This guy seems very smiley. And is a pretty good dancer, Harry approves. He doesn’t like dancing by himself.

And then, after a blurred thirty seconds, Harry and this other guy appear to be dancing together in a very  _ real  _ way, and Harry doesn’t mind it. Doesn’t mind it at all. Doesn’t mind the way guy smells. Or the way that he is slightly taller than Harry. Or the way he has blonde hair.

And then, when the guy steps in closer, and looks at Harry’s mouth in a way that feels familiar now, he remembers it from a time before, Harry responds in the way he knows that he is supposed to.

He kisses him.

Whoever he is.

It feels like… it is okay. Harry thinks he must have remembered how to enjoy kissing, recently, because this feels okay. He isn’t actively horrified.

This guy leans into him, and Harry feels two hands, gripping vaguely at the sides of his shirt, and… okay. Cool. Harry doesn’t mind this. It is sort of fun.

Kissing boys.

Harry thinks that maybe he should return the compliment, in some way, and hold some bit of this guy. Maybe? He isn’t sure. Harry doesn’t even know what the protocol is here. What should he be doing with his hands? He becomes aware that one of his hands is vaguely hovering in the air, unsure, and, okay, this guy is  _ really _ enthusiastic now.

Umm.

Umm.

Okay. This is a bit…

Harry is wondering how to politely say  _ please stop eating my face, I like my lips the shape they are,  _ when he feels another hand on his shoulder, tugging him backward.

“Whoa, okay,  _ hello _ , I leave you for two seconds… are we still planning to go that house party now? Or are things going as you planned here?”

Harry could kiss  _ Niall _ for throwing him such a lifeline, and clings to it like he is drowning (which he might have done, if that kiss had lasted any longer).

“Yeah, no, we should go. Um, it was nice to meet you…”

The guy looks like he is about say something, but Niall is tugging him away, and thank god for Niall and his overbearing approach to Harry’s lovelife.

The cool night air makes him wince, and Harry is maneuvered up against the wall of the club, and leans back on the friendly brick work. He blinks, and then tries to focus on the fingertip, that suddenly appears to be pointing at his nose.

“Niall… can I have my phone now?”

“Why, so you can message Louis about how you just made out with a random bloke?”

“No, that’s… that wasn’t the plan.”

Niall snorts, and then leans against the wall next to him.

“Do you have any plan, right now?”

Harry shakes his head, and then presses a hand to his face, rubbing downwards once, hoping to settle himself. Niall puts his hand around his shoulders, and squeezes, gentle.

“No. Not really. I’ve felt a bit plan-less for a while now, if I’m honest.”

…

They decide to get a taxi, after another five minutes of silent reflection.

It’s only a ten minute journey, tops, but Niall feels really wound up, somehow, necessarily tense, and concentrates on his breathing. Concentrates on relaxing.

The driver isn’t a maniac, at least, and eventually he feels his heart rate settle out. He’s not sure what he is panicking about, really. Possibly the concept of Stan, who he still doesn’t really know that well at  _ all _ , materializing and punching him. Not that any of this can, or should be blamed on him.

Niall leans back in the seat, crossing his legs at the ankles, and looks over at Harry, who is resting his head on the door next to him. After a moment he notices his gaze, and looks over at him, frowning.

“Me and Louis aren’t dating, you know. He’s not spoken to me for a week.”

Niall shrugs, and runs a hand down his arm, trying to sooth him.

“No bro. But also you haven’t spoken to him. However, I think, whatever you and Louis are doing…”

“ _ Nothing,  _ I’m a mess and he deserves someone who is not confused and prone to run away every two seconds-”

“Yes,  _ okay, _ but either way, I don’t think you necessarily need to tell him.”

Harry rubs at his temples a couple of times, and then frowns at him.

“Yes. I do. I should. Honesty is important. Can I have my phone back?”

Niall nearly chokes on his own surprised laugh, and shakes his head adamantly.

“No, god no, I’m more likely throw it out the window than hand it over to you at this point, you are still hours away from sober Harry. At least sleep on it.”

Harry looks at him, and Niall worries for a moment that Harry is about to go for his shirt pocket regardless. And then he relaxes, and the moment passes.

“Okay, sure.”

Surprised, because he was expecting more of a fight, if he is honest, Niall nods, and then looks out of the window.

“We’re almost there. How about we get a burger from that place on the corner, and then have a pow wow about our next move? Your next move. Despite it being totally your own decision. But, you know. I like to feel involved.”

Harry nods vaguely, and then seems remember something, checking his back pocket and pulling out a few bills.

“Yeah, um. You mean the one that is just underneath your block? You wouldn’t have to walk far?”

The cab pulls up, and Niall gives Harry a funny look, before handing over the money and opening the door, pointing upwards.

“I live just there, Harry. So no, it won’t be far to walk. Come on then.”

Harry nods, and gestures at him.

“Yeah, uhh, you go ahead, I’ll be there in a moment, just think I dropped some change down here.”

Niall closes his door with a thunk, and then steps up onto the sidewalk, walking the few steps it takes to go inspect the menu.

“Niall?”

“Mmm?” Niall turns, and Harry has rolled the window down.

“I’m going to see Louis. Call me an idiot in the morning will you?”

Niall has a moment in which he struggles to connect the dots, and then he realizes what Harry is planning, and oh  _ for god’s sake, _ this is not the Notebook, this is just a terrible idea.

“Harry, no, wait, look you can have your phone, just…”

Harry mouths sorry, and then the cab is leaving.

And yup. Niall is pretty damn sure that he’ll be getting punched at some point in the future. Though he isn’t who will be throwing the punch. The possible candidates feel endless.

…

Harry climbs the stairs to Louis and Stan’s apartment wearily.

The elevator had been out. Harry tries not to consider it as some kind of message from above.

Seven stories is a  _ long  _ time for reflection though.

So when he gets to the top Harry rests his hands on his hips, and breathes for a moment, trying to gather his thoughts. There’s a wall which looks helpful, and he leans on it, trying to perform some kind of mental stock take.

Is this a good idea?

Really?

_ Really? _

He thinks he is still drunk. But, not to the point of nonsense. Harry just feels… well, tired, but also like he is slightly braver than usual. Slightly more capable of letting out some of the words that he carries around inside him.

But this is… well, it is ten past two, for a start. Possibly not anyone’s most receptive time for a doorstep honesty confession (which Harry isn’t even sure is related to Louis, such is the intangible nature of how things got left).

Harry admires honesty in other people. He tries to reflect it as often as possible. But he does recognize that other people might value other qualities higher, such as a lack of an impulse to disrupt people’s sleep patterns.

Besides, he doesn’t even have a phone. Which means he’ll have to knock. Which means there is a chance that Stan might answer.

And if Louis is in a bad mood with him, then Stan will definitely be in a badder one. Wait, no. Worse. A worse mood.

Harry frowns at himself for a bit, and then walks in a very straight line towards Louis’ door, because,  _ see, _ he isn’t drunk.

There is a moment of intense reflection, in which Harry tries to calculate the precise volume at which to alert someone in there that he is knocking, without disturbing anyone at all, and then he’s knocked.

This is happening. This is going to happen.

He  _ is not  _ going to run away. Enough of that.

There’s a noise on the other side of the door, and oh god, oh god.

_ What is he doing? _

Louis opens the door.

…

Louis thinks he had been dozing on the couch. Maybe it had been in a still dream like state that he had opened the door. There is no way, he is pretty sure, that he would have looked into the peephole, seen Harry looking extremely doubtful about the wisdom of what was going on, and then opened the door.

He tries to blink away the sleep haze, and then looks down at himself, checking that he hasn’t accidentally opened the door naked, because that would certainly change the dynamic of the conversation.

Fully clothed. Success. Louis refocuses on Harry, and decides someone should probably start talking.

“Hello.”

“Sorry.”

Louis frowns, and wow, this is going well. But, it is late, and Harry has ignored him for a week, so yeah, an apology is expected.

“Harry… it’s late. What are you doing?”

Harry shrugs, and then pinches at the skin on the bridge of his nose, screwing up his eyes tight.

“I don’t know. Acting on a bad idea. But I’m really committing to it, you know? Powering through.”

Louis leans on the doorframe, and just looks at Harry for a moment, and starts to register that there is something different going on with his hair, but all of that seems extraneous, because his eyes are the same.

Harry takes a big gulp of air in, and then looks Louis in the eyes.

“I think honesty is important. So I should tell you. I kissed a boy.”

Oh…kay. Louis concentrates on the doorframe for a moment, grateful for its reliability.

“Um. Okay. When?”

Harry makes a show of checking his watch, and then says “About… an hour and a quarter ago?”

“And you had to tell me now?”

Harry breathes out a wobbly breath, and then looks as though this is exactly what he had feared.

“I don’t know Louis, I’ve felt like shit the entire week and been incapable of contacting you through embarrassment, and then suddenly there is this guy who kissed me, and I felt like I was going to pop if I didn’t speak to you, and Niall had my phone, still  _ has  _ my phone, and honesty is important, and so…”

Harry trails off, and sweeps an arm vaguely around, as if to say  _ here we are. _ And he looks so mournful, that Louis ends up saying the one thing Stan will tell him afterwards that he definitely shouldn’t have said.

“You should come in. You can stay, it’s late.”

Harry blinks at him carefully, and then bites his lip.

“You’re sure? You don’t just want me to fuck off? I’d understand the impulse.”

Louis shrugs, and then stands to one, gesturing behind him.

“I guess. Though I’m still mad with you, for the record.”

Nodding, Harry raises a weak smile.

“Yeah, I am too. If that helps.”


	18. Chapter Eighteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part Eighteen. This is a very AU Larry based on an anon prompt - you can find the prompt and the other parts on my fanfic page.
> 
> This is all lies. SFW. Thank you for reading, kudos-ing, bookmarking, commenting, etc. I’m glad you are entertained.
> 
> …

Louis thinks, that one a scale of one to  _ bad idea _ , inviting Harry into his apartment might be one of his finest.

The only comfort,  _ literally _ the only comfort, is that Harry is looking around him with blinking, weary eyes, as if he is also considering what a bad idea this is.

Harry meets Louis' eyes after a moment, and rubs vaguely at the back of his head, grimacing.

“Sorry… it’s – I don’t have my phone to check the time, but it is late. I should have waited until morning.”

Louis shrugs, and moves around the back of the couch, picking up a throw on impulse and wrapping it around his shoulders.

“You could have.”

Harry looks down mournfully at his trainers, and then seems to steel himself for the next sentence.

“But I probably wouldn’t have, because common sense and Niall would have talked me out of it. And by then I would have been sober, and incapable of looking you in the eye again, so…”

Louis observes him for a moment, absentmindedly tucking the corners of the throw tighter into himself, because he has remembered now that he is angry with this person. For leaving him. For ignoring him. For resisting this thing as hard as he is.

Harry looks like he might be considering exactly how to get the ground to open and swallow him up, and Louis tries to remember how he felt, during those strange months while he was getting used to the fact that he was gay.

Pretty confused.

So he relents, a little bit.

“Hey, do you want a hot drink? You look cold.”

Harry shrugs, and then bites at his lip.

“Yeah, ummm.”

Louis relents a little more.

“I’m glad you are here Harry. But  _ I  _ need a cuppa, if any kind of discussion is going to happen, so if you want one then…”

Something about the way Harry smiles at him has Louis wishing that he could just jump forward in time, to maybe one year from now, when at least all this will be settled, he hopes. One way or another.

…

Harry crosses his legs underneath him on the couch, and cradles the warm mug in his hand. He’s feeling a great deal more sober, but that doesn’t seem to matter as much now. Now that Harry is talking to Louis, now the conversation has started, the nerves have gone. It was just the initial first look, that he needed a little help with.

Louis is sitting opposite him, on another chair. Not on the couch. Probably for the best.

“Where’s Stan? Is he in?”

Louis gestures behind him, and nods.

“Yeah, he’s been asleep for a couple of hours though. Why did you think we were whispering?”

Harry nods, because yeah, that really should have been his first clue. He hadn’t really noticed it though, his voice had just chosen to adopt the volume that Louis had set for the conversation.

“Does Stan think I’m a moron?”

Louis nods after a moment, and Harry bites at his lip.

“So that must mean that you think I am a moron, cause I don’t speak that much to Stan and so he has absorbed your views into his views. Like osmosis.”

Louis snorts, and rests his head on the back of the chair, looking defeated.

“Great job, Sherlock.”

Harry chews on the side of his thumb nail for a moment, unsure how to proceed. Louis looks at him levelly, for what feels like an eternity, and then breaths out a sigh.

“Stan… doesn’t think you are a complete moron though. After the initial shock, he kind of figured that you must have not been thinking completely rationally, when you left.”

Harry nods, and then nods again, taking a meek sip of his tea, and wincing to swallow the slightly too hot liquid.

“Yeah, you could say that.”

Louis frowns, and then continues with, “but he does think you are pretty damn stupid for not getting in touch for the whole week after.”

Yup. Harry holds up a hand, seeking to clarify.

“Can I just confirm here that all of Stan’s emotions are your emotions?”

Louis just blinks at him for a couple of moments, as if mentally calculating how loudly he can say  _ duh _ without disturbing Stan, and then relaxes, looking away.

“This has been a metaphor. But, why are you here, Harry?”

Harry knows the answer, fires back, as sharp as a tack.

“I wanted to see you. I missed talking to you.”

“And?”

There was a boy, Harry remembers, who had kissed him. And he hadn’t hated it.

“We aren’t… dating, are we?”

Louis snorts, abruptly, as though that question had taken him by surprise.

“No. This is…. This is not how dating goes, Harry.”

Laughing at himself, because wow, way to say something stupid, Harry holds up a hand in apology.

“No, I know that. I have been nothing but disaster. But tonight, it’s like… I don’t know. I kissed that boy and didn’t hate it. You know? And cause, in between me running away and being a complete asshole, I’ve really enjoyed talking to you. About everything, but talking to you about the maybe gay thing has been really useful. So I guess, I ended up here because I wanted to say to you, maybe this isn’t just a phase. Or a you thing, or whatever. Maybe I just  _ am _ gay.”

Louis is doing a lot of frowning, and looking at his own mug, and Harry continues.

“I mean, kissing you is about one thousand times better, but… I don’t know. This counts, towards something, I think.”

Harry watches, as Louis plays awkwardly with the mug before setting it down on the coffee table.

“You really didn’t have to leave, that time, you know? The last time. I wanted you to stay. It could have… I wanted you to stay.”

Harry knows that there is a blush building on his cheeks, but tries to power through, regardless.

“I know. It was just too fast. I freaked out. I’m sorry.”

“But then the silent treatment?”

“I was ashamed. And  _ am  _ a moron. I’m sorry. And I know that sorry as a word doesn’t do very much, so I’m just going to try and  _ do _ apologies, for you. For as long as it takes. Whatever you need.”

Louis looks at him with eyes that contain nothing but doubt, and Harry hates,  _ hates,  _ the way that it is him who has put the doubt there.

Then Louis smiles, weakly, and stands.

“Let’s leave it until morning, shall we? I’m tired. You can stay…”

There is a question at the end of that sentence, as though Louis panicked about how Harry would respond to the offer. But Harry is on exactly the same wave length as Louis, and no, a shared bed is  _ not  _ a good idea.

“I’ll sleep on the couch, if that is okay? I’ve got some cash, but not enough for a cab, and I don’t really want to use the tube at this time of night.”

Louis shakes his head adamantly, walking back to his room.

“Oh god no, okay, cool, I’ll get you some blankets.”

That sounds good. Harry shivers abruptly, not necessarily from cold, but from the realization that he has put himself in a very vulnerable position. If Louis had kicked him out, if this had gone as badly as Niall thought it may have, then he would be struggling.

Harry looks around himself for a moment, hugging himself tightly in an unconscious move. There’s a book on the coffee table that he recognizes, and it serves to remind that it really hasn’t been that long, since Harry was here last.

Louis returns with armfuls of blankets, and what looks like a t-shirt and sweatpants for Harry to sleep in, and Harry smiles gratefully.

“Thanks. I don’t know why you are so nice to me, but… yeah. Thanks.”

Harry really wants to say more than that, but has neither the courage nor the alcohol in his system to make that easy. Louis observes him quietly for a moment, and then seems to come to a decision, beckoning Harry closer with one hand.

There’s what feels like a solid cubic meter of bedding between them, but it is still a hug, and Harry accepts it gratefully. Louis breathes out a shuddery breath, and then pats him on the head once.

“Bear in mind that I was probably only this nice to you because you snuck up on me. I was pretty angry before, when you decided to break radio silence with an announcement about your hair.”

Harry snorts, and nods, penitent.

“Sorry. Niall tried to take my phone from me at the start of the night, but I wouldn’t let him.”

Louis leans back, and then runs a finger down the side of Harry’s face.

“You can apologise in some other way, for that. Another time.”

Louis trails off, and Harry needs to step away, because otherwise he’ll kiss him, and he is certain that that would count as taking liberties.

“Thanks Louis. I’ll just…”

Harry makes a show of taking the blankets, and arranging them on the couch. Louis helps, and then straightens up, huffing out a sigh.

“You should know, in the interests of full disclosure, that I really want to invite you into my bed.”

Gulping, Harry tries to think of an appropriate response, but Louis is already there.

“But I won’t. Because that wouldn’t be good for either of us, right now, would it?”

Louis sounds like he is hoping for an agreement, some kind of reassurance, and so Harry provides it.

“No. Probably not right now.”

…

There’s a noise.

There’s a noise.

There shouldn’t be a noise.

Why is there a noise?

Why does the noise not stop?

Can the noise be stopped?

Some bit of Stan’s body manages to connect the dots, and he throws an arm out towards his side table, scrabbling around until he finds his phone, which is beeping incessantly.

Fucking, god damn, he hates when he forgets to switch off his alarm on a Sunday. Stan’s been cheated out of the one day when he can sleep late, and he only has himself to blame.

He won’t blame himself, publicly, of course. He’ll tell Louis that a bird flew into his window, or something, and  _ that’s _ why he’s in his usual, sleep deprived, bad mood.

Stan can never get back to sleep once his alarm has gone off, it is hardwired to his adrenaline gland, and that is why he throws back the covers, and sits up. There’s a sweater decorated with a penguin image on the end of his bed, and he shrugs into it, before running a hand through his bed hair. 

Some tea, and something unhealthy to eat. That usually goes some way to heading off the bad mood.

It is rare, that Stan wasn’t working, the night before, and Stan hangs on to this fact, trying to remind himself that he isn’t as tired as he normally is at this point, and therefore the unintentional early wake-up call isn’t that much of a disaster.

Blinking to try and get his eyes to focus, Stan shuffles into the kitchen, flicks on the kettle, and then leans against the counter, looking over towards the blank television and the back of their couch as she waits for it to whirr into life.

And then almost shits himself when a head abruptly appears above the back of the couch.

“What the  _ fuck? _ ”

…

Harry’s morning could be going better.

Stan spends the first thirty seconds of Harry’s waking morning looking like he is assessing whether Harry is an intruder and needs to be murdered. And even then, when Harry is reasonably confident that a citizen’s arrest and some kind of wrestling move isn’t about to be carried out, the awkwardness of the entire social situation washes over him. Because Stan is someone who, despite Harry feeling like he knows him reasonably well through messages and retold stories, Harry has only ever physically met one time at a party. A party which ended pretty badly.

And Stan is also someone who, if any logic is applied to the situation whatsoever, almost certainly thinks that Harry  is, at best, a moron.

_ And _ , Harry has a hangover.

Excellent. Excellent. Niall was correct that this was a stupid idea.

Harry rubs a hand over his face a couple of times, and then tries to smooth down his hair, super conscious that he is wearing Louis' clothes, and was probably drooling all over Stan’s couch.

Stan sets a glass of water, and then a mug of tea, on the coffee table in front of Harry, and then goes to sit in the armchair opposite, plate containing something that looks suspiciously like a Poptart in his hand.

“So, hello. Long time no see.”

Harry gulps, and nods, wondering if it would be possible to drown himself in that glass of water.

“Yeah…. Been a weird month or so.”

Stan arches his eyebrows, and takes a considered sip of his own tea.

“So I hear. You also appear to have slept on our couch?”

Harry nods, guilty as charged.

“Despite not showing any sign of turning up, or indeed communicating with Louis ever again, when I went to bed.”

Ouch. Harry nods to that one too, and fidgets, running both hands over his thighs in a nervous gesture.

“Um. Yeah. I… had a kind of revelation late last night, and realized that I needed to speak to Louis. And, um. I was in a rush, and so forgot my phone, and it was kind of stupidly late, by the time we’d done talking, so Louis offered to let me stay.”

Stan absorbs all this without a flicker of emotion, and sighs wearily, as if finding near strangers on his couch on a Sunday morning is a depressingly regular feature of his life.

“Okay. Whatever. I’m sure that even if I asked Louis, she wouldn’t give me a straight answer about what went on, so I doubt interrogating you will yield any details.”

Harry doesn’t know what to say to that, and so looks down at the coffee table, taking first a sip of water and then a sip of tea, aware that he probably needs full alertness to survive. Stan clears his throat after a moment.

“However, and this is me just making a general announcement to the air, you realize, I’ve seen Louis waste a hell of a lot of his time on someone who was only interested in him after an appropriate amount of dutch courage. And by the end of it I was inches away from knocking his head off. So, you know. Dwell on that.”

There is literally, nothing,  _ nothing, _ that Harry can say in reply, but thankfully at this point there is the noise of a door behind him, and Harry twists around, grateful for small mercies.

Louis is standing there in shorts and a t-shirt, looking like he has just jumped out of bed to fight a fire, which isn’t that far wrong, Harry thinks.

“Oh, hi Stan. I heard voices, so…”

Harry looks back at Stan, who just nods and then gestures at Harry, smiling brightly.

“Hi Lou – look who I found inexplicably sleeping on the couch despite hearing nothing from him for over a week.”

Harry smiles weakly, and raises a hand as if responding to a roll call.

“Me. Hi.”

Louis meets his eye, and smiles gently for a moment, before clearly his throat and looking back at Stan.

“Yeah, you were asleep, so I didn’t want to disturb you.”

“Oh, consider me disturbed, Tommo. Consider me  _ disturbed. _ ”

Louis rolls his eyes, and then seems to ignore Stan for a moment, in a move that he will probably have to answer for lately, and focuses fully on Harry.

“Do you want to go get brunch somewhere? We kind of didn’t finish our discussion, last night.”

Harry nods, eager to not have an audience glaring at him, and then remembers something.

“Yeah, um, if you don’t mind the journey, there’s a great place near me. And that way I can go grab the sweatpants of yours that I ran off with.”

Louis nods firmly, and Harry can’t look at Stan, for fear of what his expression will be doing.

“Sure, I’d like that. I’ll just, lemme go wash my face, and I’ll throw on some clothes. If you wanted to get changed in my room, so we don’t disturb Stan any more…”

Harry jumps up gratefully, and scoops his small pile of clothes up into his arms, trotting obediently into Louis' room. Louis holds the door open for him, and smiles softly, mouthing  _ hi  _ silently as Harry passes. Harry ducks under his arm, and Louis closes the door for him.

Just before the door closes, Harry is sure that he hears Stan say “Louis, I don’t think I could  _ be _ any more disturbed than right now.”

It’s the wrong instinct entirely, but Harry has to repress a laugh, regardless.

…

  
  


 


	19. Part Nineteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part Nineteen. This is a very AU Larry based on an anon prompt.
> 
> This is all lies. SFW. Thank you for reading, kudos-ing, bookmarking, commenting, etc. I’m glad you are entertained.
> 
> …

Oh lord.

Niall reaches for his glasses, sliding them onto his face before slumping back onto his pillow. He gets a far improved view of his bedroom ceiling, but it doesn’t throw any clarity on the conversation situation he is currently fielding.

He squints at his phone for a moment, as if that will help, and then presses it back to his ear.

“Stan, I don’t follow. Why are you calling me a… what did you say? A douche nozzle? What even is one of those?”

“Oh Niall, don’t even pretend like you don’t know what one of those is. And we’ve had conversations about this whole Louis and Harry thing, and I’m pretty sure that we had come to the conclusion that, if we thought it appropriate, there would be some sort of phased reintroduction. With plenty of witnesses and on neutral ground.”

Niall rests a hand over his eyes, because he does have a headache, and this is not helping.

“Stan, I’m pretty sure that Harry and Louis do not need their entire lives micro-managed.”

“Please. Louis definitely needs his love life micro-managed. And sure, I don’t know Harry that well, but from what I have seen he is hardly covering himself with glory.”

Niall grunts in agreement, and Stan continues, and something about his tone makes Niall think that he is pacing up and down, probably waving an articulate hand around at an entirely absent audience.

“So, imagine my goddamn surprize when I wake up this morning only to be greeted by an unconscious Harry, sleeping on my couch. Who apparently rocked up late last night to say who knows what to Louis, and if I’d have at least been warned of his arrival I could have made an attempt to bug the place.”

Niall snorts, and then laughs, at the concept of Stan trying to Watergate his own apartment purely to listen in on what was no doubt a load of sentimental bollocks from Harry last night.

“Okay, you are joking, I know you are joking now.”

Stan takes some of the frantic edge out of his voice, but still sounds worried.

“I just… okay, so if you know me at all you will know that I am crazy protective of Louis, and his unwavering instinct of finding really terrible people to try and have romantic feelings for.”

Some kind of instinct takes over Niall, and he finds himself sticking up for Harry.

“Harry isn’t a terrible person at  _ all _ Stan, jeez do you think Louis is an idiot? Harry’s just figuring himself out, and it has been affecting his decision making process. But he isn’t a terrible person. Far from it.”

Stan grunts.

“Yeah, well. Even so, Louis isn’t participating is some kind of  _ care in the gay community _ project. Why can’t Harry figure out all this shit on someone I care less about, and then come and be a good boyfriend to Louis? Is that so much to ask?”

“You know that you are in danger of wandering over the line between micro managing and into meddling, right? You say they have left together, so Harry can’t have said anything that moronic. Did they seem happy?”

Niall absentmindedly crosses his fingers, because he is rooting for Harry to figure it all out at some point, and Louis seems to be bringing out the best in him.

“Yeah, kind of. Well, I mean, yes, in the usual annoying goofy giggly pattern I’ve been seeing Louis display all over the apartment until last weekend. I guess my nose is just out of joint because I wasn’t aware of the pow wow until it was over. They’ve gone off to get brunch somewhere. Somewhere Harry said was good. Do you have any idea where that’d be? I might don a disguise and go watch. You know that I have a ghillie suit? Perfect for the urban jungle.”

Niall doesn’t even know where to begin with unpacking that sentence, and so just latches on to the bit he understands.

“A ghillie suit? You are crazy. And no, I’m not telling you, because I’m not one hundred percent confident that you won’t go and sit in the diner, hiding behind a newspaper wearing a ghillie suit…”

…

The journey over towards Harry’s district is nice.

It’s annoying, but Harry thinks he might have forgotten just how much he enjoys being around Louis. And that makes him think about how he would really like to spend a great deal of time, with Louis. Just being with Louis. But he can’t, because it would seem that Harry is incapable of spending more than six consecutive hours with him without doing something really stupid.

Louis pokes at the side of his head, and Harry swerves away, a second too late.

“What are you thinking about?”

Harry shrugs, looking out of a window that shows nothing but darkness, and then looking down at his own knees, gripping at the edge of the seat.

“Oh, you know. Stuff. About how I’ve missed hanging out with you.”

Louis nods, and then puts his own hand down on the edge of his seat, so that the outside of his pinkie finger is touching the outside of Harry’s pinkie finger, and god help him if it doesn’t set Harry on  _ fire. _

“Mmm. Yeah. I think that I was so busy being angry with you that I forgot how much I liked hanging around with you too.”

Harry breathes out slowly, and then hates the fact that they are in a tube train, because he wants to have a conversation about honesty and self discovery and trying to be better and trying to be the person that maybe he thinks Louis deserves, but he can’t do that here. Or now. Because a), that probably counts as coming on ridiculously strong, and b),  _ they’re on the tube. _

Instead he just mumbles “we should talk about something else while we are in a public space, because I am really bad at compartmentalizing emotions and there is a strong chance I’ll either start crying or kiss you.”

Louis makes a strange noise in his throat, and then inches his hand closer, running the tip of his pinkie finger over the back of Harry’s hand, and then removing it, folding his arms instead.

“Okay, lets talk about the fact that I’m really regretting not showering before we left. I mean, I washed, but not full shower. Do I stink? I feel like I must stink.”

Harry snorts, and just like that, everything is okay again.

“No you don’t stink you idiot, of course not, what is wrong with you? Anyway, I haven’t showered either, so we must be about even.”

Louis looks at him, pulling a slight face.

“Well, yes, I mean, that is my point, I didn’t want to say anything but you smell like one of Stan’s burps, and I just thought…”

“No I do  _ not! _ ”

…

It is a good brunch place. Harry was right.

Louis rolls his eyes at himself, because he knows what he is doing. He is trying to convince himself that Harry is trustworthy. Because he wants to trust him. It feels like it would be so easy to trust him.

Until he runs away again. If he ran away again.

Louis spreads peanut butter over a corner of toast, and watches as Harry concentrates on eating all of the egg white while leaving the yolk in the centre, unharmed. Harry realizes he is being watched after a few more moments, and looks up, grinning unapologetically.

“I should warn you, I’ve got some weird quirks.”

Louis widens his eyes slightly, and takes a bite of his toast, nodding.

“Oh, I’ve spotted that one. Don’t worry.”

It sounds slightly too cutting the moment it is out of his mouth, and Louis regrets it instantly, regrets the way that Harry face falls, and he goes back to his egg deconstruction silently. And Louis thinks that he’s being a little too Stan about this whole thing, a little too protective of himself. Because what are a few emotional bruises on the bumpy road? Nothing, really. In the grand scheme of things.

So he nudges at Harry’s foot, gently, until Harry looks up at him.

“Hey. I didn’t mean it like that. I just meant, you know. That you are weird. Generally.”

Harry stares blankly at him for a moment, and then goes slightly cross-eyed, and it is so, so pathetic that Louis can’t help but laugh, even as some of the pressure eases in his chest.

Harry grins too, and Louis bites at his lip, before trying to remember that he did want to talk to Harry properly this morning, not just let him pull silly faces in Louis' direction.

“So this guy, huh? You kissed a boy? Want to talk about that? In a completely neutral sort of way, because I’m kind of not that concerned about that, in a weird way. Like, that’s how I knew that we weren’t dating, last night. Cause I was more concerned about you thinking that you had to be embarrassed around me, than that you’d kissed someone.”

Harry takes all of that in his stride, thankfully, as Louis retrospectively tries to reign in his sentences before they run away with him completely. Harry just smiles, and does the little nod that Louis has come to recognizes as the  _ it is okay to say whatever is on your mind Louis _ nod.

“Yeah, I don’t really know what happened. Um. I was just out with Niall, at one of the places Niall likes to take me every now and then. And I was having a better time than I normally do, and just dancing, you know, just dancing. And then Niall had disappeared, and there was this man dancing with me. And then… He did the leaning in thing. And I leaned forward, not backwards.”

The blush on Harry’s cheeks had been building steadily as he talks, but Louis can tell that he is making a real effort to be straight-forward, to not shy away from the truth, and so he himself tries to make a real effort to not let the jealously flare within him, because this isn’t about that.

“So. Okay. Cool. And you didn’t freak out. Or feel the need to run away or any of that other cool stuff you do when the gay panic strikes?”

Harry shrugs, and then says “Well. Kind of, particularly when it turned out that he was a  _ really _ bad kisser. Or, I don’t know, some kind of trainee dentist with a really  _ unorthodox _ method – I swear it felt like he was trying to count my teeth with his tongue at one point. Niall came to save me, because I was trying to figure out how to politely ask him to release me, and my brain was taking too long.”

Louis snorts, unable to help himself, and then covers his mouth with his hand to try and trap the giggles.

“Oh god, sounds pretty bad.”

Harry pulls an exaggerated face of distress, and then nods, taking a drink of his coffee and swallowing.

“Yeah, it was. But afterwards I was thinking to myself, okay, so I didn’t enjoy it because he was a bad kisser. But I didn’t enjoy it because he was a  _ guy _ , if you follow?”

Louis nods, because yeah, he thinks he does, and raises his toast in a toast.

“Here’s to progress.”

Harry nods, and raises his mug, smiling softly.

“Here’s to ticking off one of the inevitable fuck ups of romance; making out with an over eager stranger in a club.”

Louis smiles in return, but something about that statement has him aching all over, because how many more fuck ups does Harry think are on his list? Why can’t Louis have the perfect version of Harry now?

And that…. Is a selfish thought. A self-centred one.

And one that feels really fucking true.

So he changes the subject, onto something that Louis knows he does want to hear about.

“So, explain to me why I’m a better kisser.”

Harry smirks, and arches an eyebrow.

“Well, you don’t kiss like you are checking for cavities- you have that in your corner. Although at least this boy didn’t try to take me up on to a freezing roof for our first kiss, so that’s a black mark against your name.”

Louis grins, and god, he wish he didn’t grin like that, whenever Harry smirks at him while trying to tease Louis, but there it is.

…

They head to retrieve the offending sweat pants, after brunch.

Harry is irrationally nervous, because this counts as taking Louis back to his apartment, even if it is just to collect the sweat pants Harry unintentionally stole. Harry hopes it isn’t in a mess. And he hopes that he’s not left anything too embarrassing in his room.

Not that Louis will be going in his room.

But nevertheless, Louis might be able to sense embarrassment, in Harry’s room, if he goes to close to it.

Maybe Harry should ask Louis to wait outside on the sidewalk, and Harry can just fling the sweatpants out of the window, down the eight stories, thus avoiding all potential embarrassment.

Louis chooses this moment to randomly poke again at the side of Harry’s head, as if searching for an off switch to the part of his brain that is whirring itself into a frantic mess.

“I’m not sure I like it when you go quiet, it usually means you are worrying about something.”

Harry nods, and tries to relax, because that is true, but this time he isn’t even worrying about  _ something _ . He’s worrying about  _ nothing _ .

Thankfully, there’s a distraction.

“So, this is my building, um… oh, Nick! Hey.”

Nick waves at him from the mailboxes over in the side of the foyer, and grins.

“Hi Harry, it’s been a few weeks? Any developments with the whole…uh.”

Harry thinks that Nick probably assesses the possibly disaster lying in wait at the end of that sentence before Harry’s panicked face manages to communicate it, but it is probably a close run thing. He clears his throat, hurriedly.

“Um, Louis, this is Nick, my friend who lives a floor up, he gives great advice. And um, Nick, this is Louis, my, um…”

Harry has literally no fucking clue why his brain has chosen to default to some kind of nineteenth century etiquette setting, but Nick, with only one small look of  _ what are you doing? _ plays along gamely, walking over to shake Louis' hand.

Louis smiles, and then clears his throat, when Harry’s sentence runs out of steam.

“I’m Harry’s human acquaintance. I give good advice too, apparently; although I think he says that just so I’ll keep listening.”

Nick laughs, and wow, okay, total strangers to conspiring Harry bullies, excellent.

“Nice to meet you Louis, I’m just heading out, but Harry, we should catch up soon, no?”

Harry nods, trying to communicate a number of things silently with his eyes, along the lines of gratitude and apology with a slight undercurrent of  _ don’t you even think about ganging up on me _ , and then Nick is gone, and Harry and Louis are alone, in the foyer.

After a moment, Louis gestures at the elevator, as Harry tries to calm his racing heart.

“So, um. Up, no? Unless you live in one of the mailboxes? Which, I mean, you’re not small, i don’t think you’d fit…”

Harry rolls his eyes, and just like that, things are back on track.

“Whatever. Get in before I rethink this entire thing and make  _ you  _ apologize to  _ me _ .”

Louis giggles, and this is all they seem to do. Tease each other until one of them laughs.

“What, and hold my sweatpants to ransom? Cause I should warn you, I’m really not that attached to them.”

Harry presses the button. And wonders about how to get Louis to kiss him again.

…


	20. Chapter Twenty Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part Twenty. This is a very AU Larry based on an anon prompt.
> 
> This is all lies. SFW. Thank you for reading, kudos-ing, bookmarking, commenting, etc. I’m glad you are entertained.
> 
> …

Harry’s apartment is… nice. Although it doesn’t feel very  _ Harry,  _ somehow.

“Who did you say that you lived with again?”

Harry shrugs out of his jacket, and tosses it over the back of the couch, as Louis fiddles with the lapels of his jacket and tries to figure whether he should take it off, and risk looking presumptuous, or leave it on, and risk looking rude.

“Oh, a few guys who a work colleague said had a spare room and were looking for someone to help out with the rent. I moved in nearly a year ago- it has knocked half an hour off my journey time to work.”

Harry gestures at him like he should take his coat off, and Louis follows instructions, as Harry keeps talking.

“Though none of them will be in; a couple of them spend nearly every weekend at their girlfriends’ places, and Liam has a crazy work out regime that occupies every Sunday morning.

Louis nods, not really taking anything in, and contemplates how Harry would decorate if it was just his place. It would be a great deal more interesting if Harry was in charge he thinks.

After a moment, Louis blinks, because Harry is looking at him, concerned, and Louis realizes he missed a question.

“What?”

“I said, do you want a drink? Um. Before you brave the journey back to your place?”

Louis nods, and requests some water, and then fidgets some more, feeling very out of place, but also feeling like Harry is out of place here. As though they should be somewhere else entirely, in a different version of reality completely.

After a moment a glass of cold water is pressed into his hands, and Harry is standing too close, and Louis can’t even really deal with the way that  _ just _ proximity makes him feel like one of his lungs is about to close up. But he can’t kiss Harry, because then what? Then this constant cycle of kisses and then rejection starts again, and Louis doesn’t want  _ that.  _ He’s figured that much out at least.

He wants more than that, from Harry. He doesn’t want to the be one that Harry makes mistakes on. What did he call it? The inevitable fuck ups of romance? Maybe he’s just being selfish, but Louis doesn’t feel like he can be the person that those fuck ups can happen to, he doesn’t feel strong enough.

He feels weak, and vulnerable, and Harry just keeps looking at him, and this can only have been a pause of three seconds tops, but it feels like forever, and Harry’s eyes are so green, they’re so so green.

If Louis kisses him, they’ll have sex. Harry will probably lift Louis up onto the counter and Louis might wrap his legs around Harry’s waist and then they wouldn’t stop, this time, not until they’d made the same fucking mistake, the same mistake of  _ fucking, _ and then it’ll be back to square one.

Harry looks like he is building up the courage to kiss him.

So Louis does something that he never does, and instead steps forward, and hugs him.

Louis never hugs,  _ hates  _ hugging, but tries to commit to it, tries to say with his arms and with his warmth that he does like Harry, he  _ really does _ , but they’ve been doing this wrong, so far.

Harry feels tiny, and vulnerable in his arms, and Louis wonders whether Harry can tell how fragile Louis is feeling, how wrong one move might send him crumbling and fragmenting all over the place.

Harry hugs back for a moment, and then stills, and breathes out slowly against Louis' collar bone, as though he needed to be held but didn’t realize it until now. And what Louis has in mind is protective, he thinks. For him and Harry.

So he kisses at Harry’s temple, once, to let him know that he isn’t in trouble, and then says “Listen. I have a suggestion that I think might be a good plan…”

…

Harry spends the first ten minutes trying to process what a normal response would be.

Although what even counts as normal? Nothing is normal, about this situation. Harry doesn’t know if he has ever experienced such an upside down period in his life.

So he ends up leaning on the edge of the couch, resting on an armrest, while he watches Louis mouth, watching for the way his lips move to shape words that seem completely out of tune to what his eyes are saying.

After a moment he presses his finger tips to his forehead, and rubs once, because he should be concentrating, and he really isn’t.

“Sorry, just… run that past me again.”

“I think you should see other people.”

See, that’s never a good sentence, in Harry’s head. He can’t really figure out the way in which he is supposed to react positively to the suggestion.

“Usually the phrase goes  _ I think  _ we _ should see other people. _ I thought that’s how this worked.”

Louis nods, cautiously, and then folds his arms in front of him, as if preventing himself from doing anything stupid.

“Yeah, um. That sentence is more for when a couple who have been seeing each other are breaking up, and that isn’t really the case, because we  _ haven’t _ been seeing each other. Or, if we have, it has been really shitty and has caused my heart to hurt multiple times. I’m not okay with how scared of me you seem to be.”

Harry chews at his bottom lip, trying to marshal thoughts.

“I’m not scared of  _ you _ , I’m just, not quite, there yet. Maybe. With the gay thing. And it makes me do weird stuff. And I’m getting there.”

The apartment echoes back at Harry weirdly after he’s finished speaking, and he wonders whether that is actually the case or whether his ears are just ringing. Louis drops his head, and shrugs.

“It’s like, you know what you said, earlier? About inevitable romantic fuck ups? Well, I’m being really selfish and self protective and saying that I don’t want those fuck ups to happen on me, you know? I’ve done that. I’ve had enough fuck ups trample all over my heart and I don’t want more. I can’t deal with more. And you’re really new to this Harry, and I get that, and I understand, but it means that you aren’t where I need you to be, right now. I want… I feel like we could be really good,  _ at some point _ , but I don’t think that point is now.”

It’s the most Harry thinks he has ever heard Louis say at once. Usually Louis will say something sharp and quick that’ll have Harry giggling, and Louis will smile and say something further that will have him giggling even harder, and then Louis will start laughing, and why is this happening? Why can’t Harry control his mouth and his stupid,  _ stupid,  _ gay panic?

“You know that was just a phrase, right? I just said inevitable romantic fuck ups as a thing to say, not because I actually think that it is inevitable that I will fuck up, romantically. I think that I could be really good, I think that  _ we _ could be really good…”

Louis nods firmly, and reaches over hesitantly, and motions to touch Harry’s hand, hanging limply by his side, until he’s curled their fingers together.

Harry does his best not to cling.

“I think… yeah. I think we could be really good. Hell, if I’m feeling optimistic I’d say that we  _ will  _ be really good. But this isn’t a now. We’ve not been good now. I’ve been freaking you out, you’ve been making my heart creak with how much you give and then how distant you go… I’m not good at accepting half measures, Harry. I want everything.”

Harry frowns, struggling to keep his voice on a level.

“I’m offering you everything.”

“No…” Louis gulps, and when Harry looks at him there are tears in his eyes, which he blinks away rapidly, “no, you are offering everything you can, right now. And I’ve done a relationship with someone who wasn’t really sure, and it ended with me in bits. I need you to be sure, before we start this.”

Harry can tell that there isn’t going to be a combination of words, that can talk his way out of this conclusion that Louis has come to, and so clamps down on the word vomit that wants to come erupting out of him. Because deep down he knows,  _ he knows _ , that he isn’t capable to giving Louis what Louis wants.

Yet.

“Can we still be friends? Can we still talk?”

Louis snivels, and nods, and Harry thinks about offering a tissue, but he also can’t move, so that would be challenging.

“Yeah, god, I don’t actually want to stop talking to you. I just think, maybe less time together. Until you’ve figured this out. Because whenever I’m around you I end up just wanting to push you up against a wall or something, so…”

Harry laughs, despite himself, and then grins a weak grin, in Louis' direction.

“I’d be okay with that, if you just wanted to pretend that this conversation never happened…?”

Louis' lips quirk into a smile, and then he looks away, pushing a hand through his hair.

“I think you should date. I think you should go speed dating and find everyone massively unattractive but give high marks because you feel embarrassed. I think you should go on blind dates and go clubbing and have one night stands and… I don’t know Harry. I just want you to figure it all out. And then, hopefully, you come back to me and say  _ yeah. It’s still you though _ . That’s what I want.”

Harry doesn’t know what to say. Louis shrugs after a moment, and looks at him.

“But you can’t tell me that until you’ve done all that. So I’ll risk it. I’ll risk it not being me, at the end. You know how you said that you were going to do apologies, rather than say them? That’s the apology that I want you to do. Figure it out, and then come back. If you want.”

Harry is blinking back tears of his own now.

“I  _ am _ sorry though. I don’t… yeah. Okay. Can you like, give me a check list, or something? Things that I need to do before I come say to you that I can’t stop thinking about you, and I want to do things properly, with you?”

Louis laughs, and then sniffs, and then pulls his hand upwards, kissing at the inside of Harry’s wrist.

“You’ll figure it out. I trust you.”

Harry lets his fingers stroke down the side of Louis' face, and then steps away deliberately, trying to force himself into being okay.

“I should get you those sweatpants, huh? And then I need to get moving on organising all these blind dates, clearly…”

…

Louis' fingers curl into the rough cotton of the sweatpants, when Harry returns from his bedroom and hands them over. And he hangs on tight, because he thinks that he is doing the right thing, the  _ sensible  _ thing, the sort of thing that Stan would say is for the best, but he feels like his body is screaming at him.

Harry awkwardly walks him to the door, and then there is a moment of just lingering, because Louis doesn’t want to leave and Harry doesn’t seem to be in a rush to open the door.

After a moment Harry clears his throat.

“So, can I just double check, I am allowed to still talk to you? This isn’t like a complete cut off?”

Louis shakes his head.

“No, of course you can, I’ll probably be messaging you tonight. But none of the pretend dates and the just you and me hanging out. Because my body does things that my brain regrets.”

Harry blinks, and maybe Louis  _ is  _ speaking in a foreign language, he isn’t sure.

“Can I also… this isn’t just you being incredibly lovely, and letting me down in the nicest way you know how? Because if you know that you don’t want to be with me then maybe not leaving me with a heart full of false hope would be better, because I’m going to be clinging on to it pretty tight…”

Harry meets his gaze, after a moment, and Louis can’t take it, can’t take how vulnerable he looks. And his arms  _ ache _ , with the need to hold him.

So he does. Hold him. And then kisses him.

It burns. It burns so bright, and Louis vaguely registers pushing Harry back, and  _ there’s  _ that wall, and Louis cups both sides of Harry face, as Harry’s arms wrap tight around his back, holding him close.

It’s been too long. It’s only been a week, but Harry tastes like oxygen, and Louis is tired of holding his breath.

Harry makes a noise, somewhere between a sigh and a sob, and Louis shuts his eyes so tight, because he doesn’t want to hear or see or feel  _ anything. _

And Harry kisses him, and kisses him, and Louis wants him now, wants the perfect Harry and the perfect relationship and everything  _ now. _

But  _ some day _ isn’t  _ now,  _ and so when Louis feels Harry start to slow the kiss he lets him, until he is just blindly pecking Harry on the lips, kissing away salt tears.

Harry shudders, once, and then kisses at his cheeks, where Louis realizes that his own tears are resting, and places a final press to his lips.

“I’m going to work really hard at it, okay? Because I think… I think that we could be perfect. And I want to be perfect for you. So if that means going on a million crappy blind dates and trampling over the hearts of a million boys, then-”

Louis kisses him again, because he can’t stop, and then just breathes out “It’s terrible of me, isn’t it, that I don’t care about the state of anyone else’s heart? It’s just mine that I want to protect.”

Harry squeezes at his hand, and Louis manages to step back, step away.

“It’s the short term vs. the long term, isn’t it? No pain, no gain. Because my heart is feeling pretty battered too, now, to be honest.”

Louis smiles weakly, and makes a big conscious effort to not lean in again to kiss him, because a line has to be drawn  _ somewhere. _

“You know, I’ve never fought this hard against falling for someone before. You bring out the worst in me, Harry.”

Harry looks like he thinks about leaning on the wall again, just for support, but instead manages to open the door for Louis, who steps through, on cotton wool legs.

“Text me, will you, Lou? Text me lots. Tell me about your days and your nights and the weird bits and the good bits, okay? So I know that you miss me. Because I’ll be missing you.”

This is a good idea. This is for the best. This is what is sensible. This is better in the long term. This is what Stan would suggest.

This isn’t self-inflicted heart break.

He leans once more, and kisses once more, as fleeting as the faintest pulse.

“I will, okay?”

…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> don't worry okay, I have this under control


	21. Chapter Twenty One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part Twenty One. This is a very AU Larry based on an anon prompt.
> 
> This is all lies. SFW. Thank you for reading, kudos-ing, bookmarking, commenting, etc. I’m glad you are entertained.

Harry cries, for a while.

An hour, maybe an hour and a half, before screwing up his eyes and then screwing up his face and then screwing up his fists. And remembering that this  _ wasn’t _ screwing up his life.

Louis needs a slightly different version of Harry.

The version that is as certain about his sexuality as he is about his feelings towards Louis.

And it… doesn’t sound impossible.

Because all Harry really knows, is that Louis feels more important than anything his own brain could have to say about sexuality.

So he showers, and puts on his jeans, and a pair of trainers, and sweater with a hoodie thrown over it, because it still isn’t quite summer, not yet.

And then walks himself the full hour long walk to Niall’s place.

By the time he buzzes up to Niall’s place, he’s certain.

“Hello?”

“Hey, it’s me. Will you let me in?”

…

Niall opens the door to find a Harry on the other side, who looks like he’s just run a marathon while weeping.

“Umm, hello? You here for your phone? Or a prescribed course of sanity?”

Harry nods firmly, and steps inside, gesturing at his kitchen.

“Yeah, both, if that’s okay? Could I also have a drink of water?”

He doesn’t wait for an answer, just powers through to the kitchen, as Niall trails him, the perplexed tail to an ill-advised comet.

“Sure, I can do all three. Can you, I mean, can I ask what happened last night, with your post-midnight surprise visit to Louis? Did that plan out as you’d anticipated?”

Harry nods again, and retrieves a glass from the cupboard, filling it from the bottle in the refrigerator, as Niall breathes a sigh of relief. Harry and Louis are fixed.

“Yeah. We’ve come to a conclusion, of sorts.”

Hurrah! Back on track.

“We’re aren’t going to see each other anymore.”

Oh, for  _ fuck’s  _ sake.

Niall wonders whether tearing hair out is a real thing that actually happens. But then, his salon bills are not insignificant, so he thinks he’ll restrain himself, for the moment.

“Okay. Okay. Sounds like it went great.”

“Mmmph. Can I have my phone please? Also, you haven’t been looking at the messages, have you?”

Niall holds his hands up, innocent, and then walks over to the jacket he was wearing last night, fishing in the pocket and tossing the phone towards Harry, which he only just catches.

“Here. Going to write a sonnet and text him?”

Harry rolls his eyes, and flips him off.

“Niall, we’re still speaking. He’s set me an assignment.”

Niall puts his hands on hips, and rolls his eyes back at him in retaliation, because  _ of course  _ he has. Goddamn gays. Who has time for this sort of shit, really? Life is too short.

Harry reads his mind, in that brief moment, and holds up his hand, quelling any protest.

“Just… okay, I know you must be getting sick of this, but hear me out, will you? We just aren’t right for each other right now, romantically.”

“Oh good  _ lord _ Harry…”

“Whatever, Niall, I don’t want to keep messing him around. So I’m going to figure out how to do romance and you know, stuff, and then we’ll try again. When I’m competent.”

Niall laughs at that, although he doesn’t know if that is because he is amused or because his body is trying to release some nervous energy.

“Harry, you are talking like a fourteen year old boy who hasn’t yet learnt the art of human interaction, do you not think that this is possibly a touch drastic…”

Harry swallows the final few mouthfuls of his drink, and then sets the glass down to one side, checking his phone.

“No. Do you remember my behaviour the night I turned up here and cried? I’m not a good date, right now, you must see that?”

Niall shrugs, because there is a point there, maybe, and watches as Harry smiles softly, at something on his phone’s screen.

He then looks up at him, serious.

“How do I find some kind of gay speed dating night around here?”

…

The speed dating turns out to be a complete disaster.

Harry sends a message to Louis after.

_ One of them asked if I was allergic to dogs. Is that some kind of code? _

_ Yup. Code for ‘I have seven and they’ll watch as we have sex.’ _

Harry laughs, because it is Louis, and Louis makes him laugh.

…

He does end up going for a few dates, with a guy from the speed dating (not the one with the dogs).

He has short brown hair, and laughs easily at the dumb jokes that Harry makes, and doesn’t mind when Harry suggests that they get off the subway a stop early and walk to the planned restaurant, on their second date.

A rain storm catches them, and they end up running the final couple of blocks, before sheltering in a doorway, when it gets really heavy.

Harry flicks his hair away from his face, trying to prevent the water from dripping into his eyes.

“Sorry, walking was a terrible idea…”

He gets a giggle, and then a hand smoothing the hair away from his face, and then the boy is kissing him.

“It’s romantic” the boy breathes against Harry’s lips, when the kiss slows.

Harry shrugs, because  _ yeah _ , he supposes it must be.

…

The boy is called Ffion.

He’s nice, and friendly, and probably doesn’t deserve to be a step on a ladder to a different destination.

…

“Probably doesn’t? Definitely doesn’t, Harry. Definitely.”

Niall knows Ffion, a friend of a friend (because who doesn’t that boy know?), and chooses to tell Harry loudly, over the phone, that he thinks Harry is being an asshole.

Harry holds the phone away from his ear for a moment, because it is loud wherever Niall is, and then pinches at the bridge of his nose, re-arranging his legs on the couch in front of him.

“Does it make it awful that I don’t see it going anywhere?”

“ _ Yes _ , Harry. Completely awful, what the hell are you doing, other than breaking your own moral code and using someone as a means to an end?”

Harry shrugs, aware that Niall can’t see him, but not caring, at this moment.

“I’ll end it. It’s only been… four dates. I’m not even sure if it counts as dates, I just felt like I was meeting up with a friend who liked to put his face on mine now and then.”

His phone makes a noise, at that point, to let him know that he’s received a message, and Harry needs to end this call, in case it is Louis.

“Oh god, what are you even doing right now, you emotional fuck up? Was the assignment from Louis ‘to become an asshole’?”

“Okay Niall, I’ve got it. I’ll end it. We’ll talk tomorrow, okay?”

Harry doesn’t wait to hear Niall say bye, but instead tosses his phone down to the other end of the couch, where it thuds into a cushion and falls on his foot.

Ffion is lovely, and doesn’t deserve to be a rebound. He deserves someone who is fully focused on  _ him,  _ rather than just an idiot who can’t stop checking his phone every ten minutes in case someone else has been in touch.

His phone lights up again, and Harry can see that it is a message from Louis.

He makes a resolution. Call Ffion, and then respond to Louis.

Harry’s never  _ dumped  _ anyone before.

Time to do some growing up.

…

Louis smiles at his phone, when it lights up, and swipes his phone across the screen so he can reply.

_ Yeah, it’s been okay. Just helping Stan with material for the gig he’s got this weekend – he’s shitting himself. What have you been up to? _

Stan looks up from his notebook, and nods at the phone in Louis hand, and Louis struggles to repress the urge to hide it.

“Who is that?”

“Harry, he… I’d asked him how his day had been. He says fine.”

Stan passes a hand across his brow.

“Phew. He’s managed to avoid accidentally running away from anyone or accidentally invading their apartment or accidentally sending out really mixed messages to someone then? Good on him.”

Louis frowns, because he’s explained the situation a few (hundred) times now, but he thinks that Harry might have a way to go to win Stan over again.

“Stan, we have discussed this… I’ll be with you in ten, okay?”

Stan rolls his eyes, and grumbles a bit, but waves Louis away, as he stands and walks to his room, closing the door behind him.

He presses call on impulse, because they really don’t talk that often, but sometimes Louis needs reminding that he hasn’t dreamed up all this, that him and Harry really do work.

“Hey.”

Harry sounds… not tired, as such, but like someone who needs a hug and to be told that they’re doing okay.

Louis wonders how much of that is the truth and how much is him projecting his own desires.

“Hi, I thought I’d… what are you doing?”

Harry sighs, and Louis worries that he’s called at a bad time.

“Just finished doing some growing up. It’s tough.”

Louis hums, but doesn’t ask, because there’ll be a reason for Harry being vague. After a moment Harry clears his throat.

“How do you not be an asshole when breaking it off with someone?”

Louis has got this one covered, has a mental list.

“Speak to them directly, be honest, don’t give false hope, don’t blame them unless it is actually their fault.”

After he says it, Louis panics that he delivered it slightly too quickly, sounded slightly too crazy, but Harry just huffs out a soft laugh, and then murmurs ‘yeah, think I did all that. Still got called an asshole.”

Louis bites at his bottom lip, wondering what to say, and then lets out the first thing in his head.

“I miss you.”

Shit, shit. That wasn’t supposed to be said. Even though it has been a month and he genuinely does miss Harry. Sometimes honesty hour veers too close to catastrophe hour for him to be comfortable.

Harry stays quiet for a long moment, and Louis calmly panics, in the interval.

“Yeah, me too. Obviously. That’s why… I’m being an asshole to a few people, Louis, because I want to reach a stage where I don’t have to miss you like this. I’m… I don’t do this, usually.”

Louis screws up his eyes tight, because this conversation  _ hurts,  _ and then does what he can to change the subject.

“Come to the gig. This Saturday. Bring Niall or Nick or whoever. Stan’s headlining, for one night. I’m supporting.”

“That’s… I’d love to. I’d really like that. But, I thought- we were doing the avoiding thing for a bit? Until I’ve got my head sorted out. Because I don’t want to rush this and you don’t deserve another fuck up…”

Louis interrupts, because this isn’t what this conversation is supposed to be about.

“No, I didn’t mean… it’d be nice just to hang out. With lots of other people around so there are no, you know,  _ up against a wall _ situations. I mean, as long as you think you can restrain from a stage invasion, we should be okay, no?”

Harry laughs abruptly, and just like that, there is air back in the room.

“Oh, okay, that sounds fun. I’d like that.”

Louis breathes out, smiling at his own reflection in the mirror.

“Cool, I’ll message you the details…”

…

Stan decides that he’d find it a hell of a lot easier to be mistrustful and suspicious of Harry if Louis didn’t look so damn  _ happy  _ every time he was done speaking to him.

“All okay? You okay? No gay crisis happening that the UN needs to be made aware of?”

Louis flips him off, and collapses back into their couch, grinning.

“No, all fine. I was just checking in with him, you know…”

_ Because you can’t stop thinking about him. _ Stan doesn’t say the sentence out loud, but instead nods understandingly, and gestures at the notepad.

“Are we okay to pick this up again?”

Louis nods, looking at his nails nervously.

“Yeah, um… I asked Harry if he wanted to come see the show. On Saturday. He’s going to ask Niall and another friend.”

Stan, in an act of extreme friendship solidarity, refrains from smothering himself to death with a cushion.

“Sure. Cool. More numbers on the door.”

Raising his eyebrows, Louis looks over at him, clearly waiting for the comment that Stan isn’t going to provide. Stan shrugs, and gestures calmly around him, as if to say  _ see, I am completely zen.  _ After a second, Louis smiles, and then rubs his fingers over his lips vaguely.

“Can you make sure that I’m not around him alone, S? I don’t trust myself, and…”

Stan snorts, helpless.

“We’re continuing this little charade, are we? I can do that no problem. I’ll be like an enormous cock blocking limpet, you’ll get no alone time whatsoever…”

“Stan!”

…

Harry takes Niall, and Nick, for moral support.

Niall is giggly already, and so difficult to use as a measure of entertainment, but Nick laughs, laughs a lot, when Louis is on stage, telling jokes and creating a little persona of complete adorable-ness for the audience to buy into.

Harry doesn’t know if he remembers to laugh, because he’s so transfixed, with the way Louis moves on stage, and the deadpan face he pulls, and the way his hand drifts off into the atmosphere, waggling around vaguely as if forgetfully conducting a haphazard orchestra.

His chest feels ready to pop.

Afterwards, they go for a drink, with Stan and Niall staging an emotional reunion, and then circling him and Louis like a pair of deranged guard dogs.

Harry thinks he manages one unheard sentence to Louis the entire evening, and it is when they are leaving, hailing taxi cabs to different directions in the dark night, and hugs are being handed out.

Louis steps into him, and Harry holds him tight, firmly reminding himself that he is going to let go, this time.

“You are so lovely.”

It’s a stupid sentence, and Harry almost regrets it, when Louis steps away after squeezing, and looks steadily at him, smile playing around his lips.

“What, Stan gets a thousand word review and I get that? Come on, Harry…”

Niall tucks himself into Harry’s side at this point, and tows him away gently, as Harry struggles for words.

“Bye, great to see you both again, we’ll do this again soon, no?”

Louis waves once, simply, as Stan pinches at his side to get him to move, and then Harry’s turned away, sitting in a cab with his head reeling.

…

Nick looks over at Harry, who is leaning on the elevator wall as though he’s worried about losing the fight with gravity.

Louis is something, alright. No wonder Harry is completely in love with him.

Nick decides that the love word probably shouldn’t be mentioned, right now.

“So, you’ll review it, won’t you? The writing thing that started all this off? Or is that not happening, anymore?”

Harry blinks at him, and then leans back, nodding.

“I haven’t, for ages- but yeah… though I don’t know if I have the words, for Louis.”

Nick smiles softly, as the elevator slows in its ascent.

“Oh, I think you’ll be okay.”


	22. Part Twenty Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part Twenty Two. This is a very AU Larry based on an anon prompt.
> 
> This is all lies. NSFW (in a vague manner). Thank you for reading, kudos-ing, bookmarking, commenting, etc.
> 
> …

Summer passes.

It passes  _ slowly. _

…

Harry does write that review, but because he genuinely can’t seem to describe Louis in normal, objective terms, he writes a review of the whole evening. Stan gets most of his words again.

Harry decides that this is because words aren’t enough, for Louis. He’s already said that he is going to do his apologies, rather than say them. Maybe this counts under that category.

He’s struck by the concept of trying to ‘do’ a review of Louis, and ends up with a mental image of him trying to do an elaborate interpretive dance routine in front of Louis, trying to convey his appreciation for his comedy.

It makes him laugh while he is showering, and Harry has to clap his hand over his mouth to prevent his roommates thinking that Harry is the sort of weirdo that laughs in the shower.

It keeps Harry happy all the way to work, and most of the way through work, like Louis is a little secret bubbling away in his chest, and he’s desperate to share.

…

In mid June, a couple of weeks after Stan’s gig, Nick invites him up for a ‘movie night’. Harry turns up with the required armfuls of potato chips, and Nick waves him in with a grin.

“Hey; ready to destroy brain cells by watching crappy nineties movies?”

Harry nods decisively, and decides that Nick might be the other sort of friend that he needs; the balance to Niall that he’s probably been missing since high school.

“I was born ready.”

…

In between movie one (Sister Act, which Harry knows  _ all _ the words to) and movie two (Clueless, which Nick cites as his biggest inspiration in life), Nick tosses a bag of Doritos in Harry’s direction, and then points at him.

“So, how is your pretend attempt to get involved in the London gay dating scene going?”

Harry groans, because Niall has views on this, and not many of them are positive.

Nick holds up his hands, fending off Harry’s disapproval.

“No, no judgement, I’m genuinely wondering how project ‘be better at being with people’ is panning out?”

Harry shrugs, and rips open the bag of chips awkwardly, spilling a couple on the floor.

“Um, okay, I think. Well. Really badly. I’ve been to another speed dating thing, although this was a bisexual one, and… I think I’m either suddenly  _ really _ gay, or completely hung up on Louis, because all of the girls were just a whole world of no.”

Nick reaches for the dip, and tilts his head vaguely.

“Or both. Maybe you are both.”

Harry flips him off, even as Nick smirks at him, and slides the dip over.

“Whatever. But yeah, there was a guy there who I exchanged number with. Might try and see him this weekend.”

Nick stands, and makes a show of changing the dvd over, and Harry stretches, nonchalantly retrieving his phone from his pocket and checking it.

_ Sounds fun! Say hi to Nick from me. X _

Harry smiles helplessly, and clears his throat.

“Louis says hi, by the way.”

Nick snorts, and looks over his shoulder, before squatting down on his haunches to mess with the buttons.

“As adorable as you are over Louis, are you okay with the fact that you are trying to date people who you have no real long term intentions with? How’s that working out for you?”

Harry shrugs, unseen, because she doesn’t feel great about it, to be honest.

“Yeah… I don’t know. It’s like, um. People do this sort of thing when they’re rebounding, don’t they? I’m in that sort of moral grey area.”

Nick snorts, and says “Oh, well, if other people do it, then you are okay…”

Harry winces, because he doesn’t like hurting people intentionally.

“I know, I know, this isn’t going to go down in my history as my finest hour. But- is it weird that I kind of think it is worth it? If doing this means that I can date Louis in some kind of functional manner, then… well, I’m marking it down as worth it.”

Nick twists around, and then stands, brushing himself down for any stray dust from the floor.

“I know, I get it, I think. And besides, you don’t actually seem capable of staying with any of these guys for long enough for anyone to get really invested.  _ And,  _ being selfish is okay now and then.”

Harry shrugs, uncomfortable. Because he feels like he is certain about Louis, now, but he’s felt like that before and then reversed away from the situation like a complete lunatic. He doesn’t want to risk that again, and if that means a few more ill-advised dates, then so be it.

Nick seems to notice Harry’s discomfort, and changes the subject.

“Why don’t Louis and Stan perform as a double act? Have they ever tried it?”

What? Harry blinks a few times, and then shrugs, as the intro scene of Clueless rolls across the screen.

“No. I don’t think so? They’ve got really different comedy styles, so…”

Nick shrugs, focusing on the screen and gesturing at Harry to pass the Doritos back to her.

“Yeah, I thought that’s why it might work? They’d be like one of those double acts which bounce off each other, maybe? And it’d make them a bit different to everyone else out there, too- there’s not many doing that sort of show, that I know of. But I’m no expert.”

Harry muses on the idea for a moment, remembering how easily Stan and Louis crack jokes when they are together, how everything seems to be funny.

“Maybe? Who knows? I’ll suggest it.”

Nick nods, and then holds up a hand.

“Anyway, shush- full focus on the most culturally significant movie of our age, please.”

Harry snorts out a laugh, but sobers immediately when Nick glares sternly at him. Nick turns back to the screen after a moment, but Harry keeps watching him, smiling softly.

Nick is a good person to have around, he decides. (again.)

…

The guy that he met at the speed dating night stands him up, obviously. Because the karmic laws of the universe can’t ignore him forever.

However, another guy, with long, almost black hair and eyes that look like pleasurable danger, approaches Harry while he is at the bar, deciding to whether to text Louis and let him know of the latest fuck up, which wasn’t actually his doing, this time.

“Hello… you look lonely.”

Harry shrugs, because yeah, maybe he is. The man, who looks, or feels, at least five years older than Harry, reaches out to slide a hand over his flowery shirt at the shoulder, and then straightens Harry’s collar, warm fingers brushing at the skin of his neck.

“You know, I generally never understand why some men wear girl’s styles, but… it looks good on you.”

Harry doesn’t know what to say to that, even as the hairs on the back of his neck are rising. The man looks at him from beneath lowered lids, for a long moment, and then raises an eyebrow.

“Buy me a drink?”

And why not? Why not?

…

They make out, in the taxi ride back to the man’s apartment.

It is probably giving the cab driver quite a show, but Harry finds that he doesn’t care, and one of his hands get placed on a warm thigh, and encouraged higher.

The man’s name is Adam. Or possible Aaron. Something beginning with A, anyway. Harry hadn’t quite caught it, when they’d first exchanged names, and right now doesn’t feel like the moment to announce that he isn’t even sure of the very basics.

Of any of the basics.

…

Possibly Adam dashes through the apartment, when the door finally opens. There’s a general noise of clattering and shuffling, and Harry is left to himself for a moment, trying to decide whether to take his shoes off, or whether that social nicety is largely irrelevant, in the grand scheme of things.

His eye catches sight of a photo, hanging up on the wall, as he tries to gather himself. It’s a picture of possibly Adam, with a woman hugging him from behind, smiling into the camera.

At this point, Adam returns, from his brief mission to hide any other evidence of his relationship in the apartment, and kisses Harry hard on the mouth.

Harry can’t take his eyes off the photo, and after a second possibly Adam realizes that he doesn’t have Harry’s full attention, and then freezes, looking over in the direction of the frame.

There’s a horrible, wobbling moment, in which no one says anything, and then Adam breathes out.

“She’s away for the week. And. She hasn’t made me happy, not for a long time.”

And there it is.

…

Harry’s first time with a guy is nothing like it is supposed to be.

For a start, Harry is one hundred percent sure that he is demonstrating nothing but the poorest of techniques.

Probably Adam is wearing boxers, and Harry wonders how to request that they are removed, because it is reaching the point where things really need to be removed.

Maybe Adam reaches down, after a moment, and  _ rips a hole _ in the boxers at the necessary area, and Harry is one part horrified, and one part impressed, because he never would have thought of that.

And then it  _ is happening _ .

…

It happens on the couch, because the bed is both too far and too much.

Afterwards, after almost certainly Adam has moaned himself to what feels like a slightly over-dramatic orgasm, clenching repeatedly around Harry’s dick, Harry sits up, and starts buttoning up his shirt.

Probably Adam sits, and tugs his own clothes down into something approaching respectability. He presses a vague kiss to Harry’s cheek, and runs a hand through his hair. Harry fights the urge to lean away.

“Do you need me to return the favour?”

Harry shakes his head, because he really doesn’t, and then stands up.

“I should go, uhhh…”

Adam looks at him for a moment, and then shrugs, reaching for the remote control in a move which seems to be designed to hide his eyes.

“Okay. It was nice to meet you.”

It comes trotting out of his mouth like they’ve just been chatting about their careers over canapés, and Harry goes to find his shoes.

It doesn’t count as running away because it was with a man.

It is running away because it wasn’t with Louis.

…

He feels dirty, for about two weeks afterward.

Harry struggles to hide it from Louis, trying to be normal, but gets a message from him three days afterward, out of the blue, which just says  _ has something happened? You are being weird. _

Biting at his lip, Harry wonders how honest he should be. Because Louis doesn’t need to know everything – he must be good enough at reading subtext to figure it out.

_ Had an evening the other night which I regret. But it confirmed a few more things for me. _

Louis doesn’t message back for what feels like the longest twenty three minutes of Harry’s life. And then his phone lights up again.

_ Okay. Maybe it can be one of those stories that we NEVER tell our grandkids? _

Harry decides then, that he is in love.

…

“Hi Stan.”

Stan slides into the booth opposite, and then eyes Harry with downright suspicion.

“Well, I’m here, Styles. What do you need from me?”

Harry holds up his hands, and gestures at the beer that he’s already ordered for Stan, at Louis’s suggestion.

“Nothing. I just thought… we could try and hang out. Because, you know. I’d like Louis’ best friend to not hate me.”

Stan takes a sip of his drink, and then retrieves a chip, popping it into his mouth and crunching it up.

“Okay… the drink is a good start. How is your little social experiment going?”

Harry winces, because he’d hoped to not have to talk about the doomed from the start dating plans.

“It’s… I’m doing it at Louis’ suggestion, you know?”

Stan smirks, and rolls his eyes.

“You know, one of the few things that makes me think you and Louis would be good together is the fact that you heard Louis’ completely crazy suggestion that no  _ normal _ person would say yes to, and then fucking well committed to it. It makes me think, when I’m having a weak day, that you might actually be perfect for each other.”

Harry grins despite himself, and takes a sip of his own drink.

“If it helps, I really don’t think I’ve broken any hearts…”

“Oh jeez, of course you haven’t, control your ego, will you? Good  _ lord. _ ”

Harry snorts, and then just grins some, at Stan, until he flips Harry off and looks away.

“I’m trying to hate you. Stop it.”

Biting his lip to stop himself from grinning any wider, Harry changes the topic of conversation.

“Nick has a suggestion for you and Louis, by the way.”

“Is it an orgy invitation? Because I’m down as long as Niall isn’t also participating.”

Harry laughs loudly, and then squeezes his lips closed, because this is actually a good suggestion, the more he thinks about it.

“No, listen, will you…”

…

There’s no rush.

Niall talks to him, over cocktails one unbearably hot August evening.

“You know, there’s going to be a post advertised at my office? Some kind of talent scout, new entertainment type correspondent for the website? It’s part time. You should go for it? See if your office will let you drop down the hours. The ad will probably go up in a couple of weeks? I’ll put in a good word for you?”

Harry nods at his drink, and then looks over at Niall, who is grinning fondly at him.

“Come on Harry- you hate your job. Try to make a change, huh? Why just aim to be happy in your love life? Aim for work life too.”

Harry smiles at him, and then is taken up with the urge to give him a hug, for always pulling for him, even if sometimes he pulls in the wrong direction. He slides off his stool, and hugs him, even as he squeaks in surprise and tries to fend him off.

“Thanks dude. I will, okay? Send me the details.”

…

By late September, Harry has been on three more failed dates with three different men, after possibly Adam.

All of them are hopeless, and the final one, in which Harry finds himself in a bathroom stall, slightly too drunk, trying to prevent a guy from giving him a love bite, clears up a few things.

He’s just not interested.

Because it’s never Louis.

Harry’s toying with his phone, the night before his job interview at Niall’s place, and finds himself wondering whether to just text Louis, and drop with whole charade, because he misses him and he wants him and he can’t imagine running away ever again.

Harry can’t tell if it has been long enough. It’s  _ felt  _ like forever, and it feels like Harry has done enough trying now. There’s only so many times you can fight gravity.

He and Louis still message every day, but it has been three months, since he saw Louis on stage, and Harry can’t deny that he’s just straight up longing for him now, thinks about him every single night.

His phone lights up before Harry can get half way through composing the message in his head though, and he’s grinning, automatically.

_ Hey. Come see me and Stan be idiots on stage tomorrow. We’ve been booked last minute, and it might all go to shit because we haven’t rehearsed this thing nearly enough, but I want you there. Bring Nick – that way we have someone to blame. I’ll email the details. _

Harry thumbs back an immediate  _ yes _ , and lies back on his couch, phone resting on his chest, as he wonders whether singing love songs at the top of his voice would annoy Liam and the guys.

Probably.

He’ll tell Louis tomorrow.

…


	23. Part Twenty Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part 23. This is an AU larry story, based on an anon prompt.
> 
> This is all lies. SFW.
> 
> Thank you for continuing to read guys :)

Nick doesn’t have plans, but if he did, he thinks he might be forced to cancel them.

Harry checks four times whether Nick is able to come. And then Nick gets three more messages, checking and confirming and double checking that he is running on time.

Nick thinks about being late, just to see where the breaking point of Harry’s sanity is, but decides against it, dutifully slipping on his shoes at the appropriate time, and retrieving his bag from its place by the door.

The elevator is empty when it pings open, and Nick checks his reflection in the mirror, before checking his phone to see if Harry has contacted him again.

He’s grown pretty close to Harry, over these past months. There was even a meal out, with him and Nicco being accompanied by Harry and Niall to the Thai place that had opened a couple of months ago.

Harry is a funny, and thoughtful friend, who contacts Nick every week or so, with a joke or a moan or a suggestion of a movie to watch. Nick will forgive the current transformation into a highly strung time-keeping nightmare.

Nick thinks that, when Harry is telling the story of his life to his kids, tonight might be an important one. The least he can do is try to keep to time.

Nick has only met Louis a couple of times, but he hears about him a _ lot, _ from Harry. And hell, the way Harry talks about him, Nick thinks that  _ he  _ might be on the verge of falling in love with Louis.

The doors ping again, and Nick is greeted by a Harry who Nick is willing to bet serious money has changed his outfit at least three times tonight.

“Hey! Are you, hi! Are you ready to go? You look great, by the way- love your hair. Um. Um. Shall we go?”

Nick bites down on a laugh, and nods.

“Sure, looking forward to it.”

…

Harry knee jiggles for the entire subway journey, so much so that Nick thinks that he might be getting infected with the nervous energy. He does his best to keep Harry’s mind off the night by asking about the job interview that he knows Harry was attending today.

“Yeah, went okay, I think. You never really know what these places are looking for though. I took some writing samples in. They said they’d be in touch on Monday.”

They manage to discuss for a bit more, about what the panel was like, and whether Harry could cope with being in such close proximity to Niall on a regular basis. Nick is still struck by the feeling that Harry is only devoting about ten percent of his attention to the conversation.

When they are a stop away, Nick takes Harry’s hand, and rests it on the jiggling knee, pressing firmly to try and calm it.

“Hey, you need to keep it together a bit. I’m sure that Louis is going to be very pleased to see you, but if you turn up and immediately puke on his shoes through an excess of nervous energy, it’ll probably put some kind of downer on the night.”

Harry nods, only looking slightly deranged, and then takes a deep breath in, and tries to breathe out slowly.

“Do you think it is possible that I have unwittingly swallowed an inflated balloon? I feel completely full of nothing, it’s weird.”

Nick smiles, and impulsively rubs at the back of Harry’s head affectionately.

“Just try and enjoy the show Harry – they’re going to be backstage beforehand anyway, so you don’t need to worry until after they’re done. That gives you a bit of time to deflate.”

…

Stan is nervous.

Obviously.

It’s the first time he and Louis have done a show together. And the material feels funny, but you never how the audience is going to react, until you are actually in the glare of the spotlights.

And then, there is the added extra twist of Louis inviting Harry, completely out of the blue. And Stan, despite his gradually softening attitude towards Harry (in fact, he now thinks that  _ both  _ Harry and Louis are morons, and thus fully deserve each other) is feeling a lot of nerves about that, on Louis' behalf.

In fact, he thinks he might be feeling more nerves than  _ Louis,  _ at this point, which feels damn stupid, but there it is.

“Lou? You okay? We’re on in ten minutes.”

They have a dressing room, which is more like a dressing weird ass cupboard under the stairs, but it’s more than they usually get, and Stan is grateful because there are costume changes planned.

That’s another thing that is making him nervous – Stan doesn’t do this sort of comedy, sketches and nonsense. Something about him and Louis though just seems to mean costumes.

Louis is leaning on the desk on the other side of the pokey room, checking his hair in the cracked mirror.

“Yeah… all fine. Harry just messaged; him and Nick found it okay. They’re encouraging us to break various limbs.”

Stan doesn’t know when Louis became a towering pillar of strength and sanity, but if Stan had someone out there who he had been romantically circling for the best part of nine months, he is sure that he would pretty much be on the floor, requesting a death by Ben and Jerry’s.

“And you are okay, are you? Because I feel like I might puke, so be ready to improv around it.”

Louis snorts, and then glances over at Stan, and Stan takes a pretty solid punch to the heart, with just how happy he looks.

“I’m with you. We’ll be great. And we have at least one fan in the audience, regardless of how badly it goes.”

Stan shrugs, and comes over to check his own hair.

“Harry is yours, remember? I haven’t got that safety net.”

Louis pokes at his side, and Stan waves him away.

“No, stupid. Do you not remember that review that started all this off? Harry has to count as one of your first fans, surely?”

Stan rolls his eyes, and then wraps an arm around Louis' shoulders, kissing his temple as he squirms.

“That review caused a hell of a lot of trouble, didn’t it?”

Louis laughs, and then stands, looking like he is trying to shake out some nervous energy.

“Yeah. I think it’s nearly over, though. Unless you are going to cause a problem…?”

Louis looks over, as if suddenly realizing that Stan actually could cause a problem for Harry and Louis, if he wanted to. Stan wrinkles his nose, unable to stop the smile.

“I think you’ve probably earned a free run at it, this time. No complaints from me. You are welcome to each other’s moronic tendencies.”

It’s the closest thing that Louis is ever going to get to Stan’s blessing, and Louis smiles softly at him, for a moment.

“Five minutes, lads!”

…

Nick doesn’t know what this room full of people were expecting. Harry had explained that another act had to pull out at the last minute, and Stan had got a phone call from the venue manager who owed him a favour.

Whatever they were expecting, it probably wasn’t this.

It takes about three minutes, for the first really big laugh to happen, but when it does it just seems to break a dam, and then entire audience is in the palm of their hand.

Stan comes on stage wearing a full suit and tie. Louis turns up at one point claiming to be Frankie from the saturdays, and then proceeds to do impressions of  _ other  _ famous people. They both perform an entirely unimpressive magic routine with completely serious faces, and Nick is nearly crying with laughter.

He makes a mental note to request at least a 5% cut of their future earnings, when they make it really big, because this was  _ his _ idea.

They end up doing an encore, which primarily consists of Stan striding out into the audience, on the search for a suitable date for Louis, who is left standing on stage, looking his version of alluring, which is all awkward elbows and a knee jutting out at an odd angle. And Stan takes each volunteer and explains to them in gloriously offensive detail why they would be unsuitable, from the shape of their ears to the likelihood of them being the sort of person who irons socks.

It’s funny, it is all just really  _ funny,  _ and Harry laughs as hard as Nick, although Nick can tell that he is also inwardly panicking that maybe Stan will find a perfect date for Louis, somewhere out in this audience.

Stan passes their seats, on his way back to the audience, and affectionately pats Harry once on the head, without interrupting his flow of abuse directed at someone else  _ at all _ , and Nick thinks that they might be onto a winner, here.

…

The lights still blind Louis, and he can never quite see anything, when he is up on stage, but the volume of the laughter and the applause really can’t be ignored.

Their show was a hit.

Louis blinks, in the dim corridor, and finds Stan behind him, letting out a yell of victory. Louis turns, and hugs him hard, because holy shit if that wasn’t the best show he’s ever done.

Stan wraps his arms around Louis, and the victory yell turns into a victory jump up and down, and Louis throws out an arm to rest on the wall, because otherwise this is going to turn into a victory fall over onto the floor.

“Stan…  _ Stan _ … that was really good, wasn’t it? Wasn’t it? Can we do another show like that, because that was-”

“Awww  _ yeah,  _ are you fucking kidding me? Of course we are doing another show like that, I’d do it again right now!”

Stan releases him, after a final tight squeeze, and then dashes to their dressing room, trailing Louis, who can still hear applause.

Louis' first thought is to check his phone for a message from Harry, but there isn’t anything. Louis decides that it is understandable, it is probably only thirty seconds tops since they left the stage, but the adrenaline is doing funny things to his concept of time.

When he looks over at Stan, Stan is almost completely changed back into his street clothes, and is smearing a wet wipe across his face to get rid of some of the stage glow.

“Whoa, where’s the fire?”

“Sorry Lou, got to dash and speak to the venue manager. You know, Pete? Here-”, Stan throws the packet of wipes at Louis, who only just catches them, “I’ll be back in a moment, wait here. Freshen up a bit.”

Louis does what he is told, after Stan leaves, pulling a wipe slowly out of the packet and pressing it vaguely underneath his eyes, as he checks his phone again. Nothing.

His heart is hammering in his chest, and Louis takes in a couple of deep breaths, trying to slow the pace.

He checks his phone again. Still nothing.

It has got to be at least a couple of minutes now, since they left the stage.

Maybe Harry has no coverage. Louis decides that he’ll just have to go out and meet him, and stands up, hoping to speed the process of getting ready.

There’s a knock at the door, and Louis nearly jumps out of his skin, before realizing that it must be the manager, looking to catch Stan.

“Come in!”

Louis turns to grab his sweater as the door opens, apologizing on Stan’s behalf.

“Sorry Pete, you just missed Stan, he’s just gone off looking for you-”

“No, it was you I was looking for. Stan has just sent me in here. And who’s Pete?”

Louis fumbles his sweater, but manages to recover, just, and straightens up to find Harry looking at him, smiling shyly.

“Oh, just the venue manager, I thought… that’s who Stan went off to find.”

Harry shrugs, and closes the door behind him.

“I don’t know. He just marched out and sent me in here. I think he’s having a drink with Nick.”

Oh.  _ Oh.  _ God, Louis is oblivious, sometimes.

Harry’s there, looking at him.

And it all comes rushing back, Louis doesn’t think it ever left, and all his body is now screaming at him is that this is Harry, and this is a room which they have to themselves, even if it is dank smelling cupboard under some stairs.

His brain struggles to hold onto the conversation.

“Did you, like the show? What did you think? What did Nick think?”

Harry grins, and nods, pointing at his eyes.

“Well, I cried laughing, so that’s a good sign. It was really good, Louis. Really really good. I’m going to review it. I’ve got a job now, that pays me to review things.”

That’s new information, when did that happen? Louis lines up several questions about the new job, all ready to be asked.

“Yeah, you owe me a review.”

Dammit brain, that wasn’t what was supposed to be said. Harry grins at him, seemingly completely okay with Louis' rudeness, and steps into the room, steps one step closer to Louis, and Louis once again notices how small this room is.

“I owe you lots of things, I think, Louis.”

Louis grips at the edge of the table, as Harry steps even closer, because otherwise he might collapse.

“Yeah?”

Harry nods, and then he’s close enough to reach out a hand, and brush some of the stray hair away from Louis' face, and tuck it gently behind his ear.

“Yeah… I don’t really know where to start, though.”

Louis watches, watches the way Harry’s mouth moves, the way that his tongue catches behind his teeth.

“Can we start here though? Now?”

He’s whispering, even though the chances of anyone being able to hear anything over the sound of the laughter for the next act must be close to zero. Harry nods, and then steps even closer, so close that it just seems to magnify the distance, like a magnet that feels the irresistible pull.

“Yeah, I think so. If you want to?”

Louis nods, and then it just seems stupid, to wait any longer.

He kisses Harry.

He kisses him like he is supposed to kiss Harry, wrapping his arms around Harry’s shoulders and pulling him in close to him, as his hands automatically to the back of Harry’s head and run through short hair.

Harry responds in kind, running his hands down Louis' sides and gripping at the exposed skin at his hips, as he opens his mouth and something tilts, possibly the universe.

Harry tastes like Harry.

Louis thinks he might have forgotten how much it was possible to feel, at once.

Harry mumbles  _ fuck _ , against his mouth, and Louis moans, and reaches for one of Harry’s hand, gripping at it with full intent of putting it somewhere that he probably shouldn’t, not in a scruffy boxroom in the backstage area of a comedy club.

The door opens, at that point, and Louis can almost feel the wave of common sense, that comes rushing in with it.

“Whoa,  _ whoa,  _ okay, that was like, two minutes, excellent work, lads. Louis, change of plan – I’m going to stay the night at Nick’s place, who is incidentally my new best friend. So, you know, I’d like to take this opportunity to say  _ you’re welcome _ , and also encourage you to consider the benefits of your empty apartment, verses this pokey little room which the cleaners will be emptying out in about ten minutes. So, you know. Consider that for a bit. Nice to see you again Harry. Have a good night.”

The door closes again, and Harry seems to remember how to open his eyes.

“Louis?”

“Yeah?”

“Take me back to yours? Please?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is for everyone that has ever commented!!!


	24. Chapter Twenty Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is a very AU Larry based on an anon prompt.
> 
> This is all lies. NSFW. Thank you for reading, kudos-ing, bookmarking, commenting, etc.

They take a cab back. Because the tube requires at least two line changes, and Louis has neither the mental strength nor the inclination to concentrate on that.

By unspoken agreement, they don’t make out in the back seat. Instead Louis sits in the middle, as though there is an invisible third passenger accompanying them, and leans into Harry, who wraps an arm around his shoulders. Louis tilts his head until Harry kisses at his temple, and then just breathes in, as if remembering what Louis smells like.

A thought strikes Louis, and he smiles, despite himself.

“How are you going to remember our show for your review? Do you need to start writing the instant we get in?”

Louis can feel Harry’s lips move as he smiles, and then he murmurs, low.

“Normally, yes, but something tells me I’m never going to be able to forgot tonight, so I’m not worried.”

His heart does a funny little squeeze at that, and Louis grins, and then wriggles around, to kiss Harry once on the lips, softly.

“Stan in a full victorian suit does take some forgetting, I’ll give you that.”

Harry chuckles, and lifts up his hand to brush gently at Louis' hair.

“Yeah. That too.”

…

At the base of Louis' building, Harry reaches for Louis' hand, and tugs once, bringing Louis to a halt.

“Hey, um. Come get a drink with me, first? Just a coffee or a whatever? There’s no rush.”

Louis frowns at him slightly, and then steps in closer to Harry, not close enough to get them any looks from passers-by, but enough for Harry to become aware of the difference in height, the shape of Louis' body, all over again.

“No, there’s no rush, but…?”

The question mark at the end is asking whether Harry is okay, and Harry nods firmly, linking their fingers together.

“I’m fine. It’s just, I’ve missed talking to you, too.”

Louis smiles softly, and turns away, heading for the coffee shop that Harry first went to with Louis, when he first was in the area.

“We’ve talked nearly every day, you idiot.”

Harry breathes out, because that’s true, but a text message is about one percent of the truth of a real conversation.

“Yeah, I mean, I’ve missed the way your voice sounds. I’ve missed the way you move your hands about. I’ve missed the way you lean forward in your seat when you laugh. I’ve missed the way you look at me when I’m talking-”

Louis squeezes urgently at his hand, and Harry bites his lip.

“Okay, you should stop, because otherwise I will not be giving you any choice about this drink at  _ all _ , it’ll be straight upstairs.”

Harry laughs in delight, mainly at how easy this feels, and Louis hums softly, reaching the door and holding it open for him.

“I’ll have the smallest coffee they serve, please. Also, I missed all of that about you, too.”

Harry thinks that hurdling tables to get to the barista faster might get them thrown out, so restrains himself, for the moment.

…

They manage about half an hour, as tables get wiped down around them and the evening outside the window gives way to the night.

Louis feels some of the nervous energy easing away from him, as he sips on his coffee. Because Harry’s right, it does feel good to catch up with each other’s physical presence in a way that isn’t just  _ physical. _

Louis remembers to ask Harry about the new job. It transpires that he only just got offered it earlier today, and it would require him to go part time at his current office to make the hours work. Harry shrugs when Louis asks if he is definitely going to take it.

“I don’t know. I guess. I’m just a bit nervous – I don’t know if I can actually do this, really. I took in a few examples of my writing, and they seemed to like it, but…”

Harry squints at Louis, as if waiting for him to finish the sentence, and Louis bites at her lip.

“You don’t really like your current job Harry. So you should definitely take it. Risk a bit of office place happiness- and if it is a mistake you are still young enough to change again. Smart enough too; you aren’t going to struggle for work.”

Harry smiles at something, and inspects the inside of his mug.

“Niall said the pretty much the same thing, you know. And Nick thinks I should go for it. And that’s probably all the sensible advice that I need.”

Louis tilts his head to one side, observing Harry, and the way that he’s sitting with one leg tucked under himself, the way that he notices Louis' gaze, and tucks some of his hair behind his ear, self-conscious.

“What?”

Louis struggles with the emotion, for a moment, and then is able to attach a name to it.

“I’m proud of you, I think. You’ve done a lot of changing, since I’ve known you. How’s Niall?”

Louis tags the question on to the end of the statement, because he doesn’t want Harry to have to figure out how to respond to Louis' sudden,  _ extremely weird, _ announcement of pride, and Harry smiles, laughter lines crinkling at his eyes.

“He’s good. Looking forward to when I stop sharing details of disastrous love life experiments with him; I think he is sort of regretting his determination to get me dating.”

Louis takes the final drink of his coffee, smiling shyly.

“I thought that was my determination to get you dating?”

Harry laughs, draining his mug and setting it on the table.

“No, you were determined to get me dating  _ you _ ; Niall was just scared of me dying alone and him having to invite me around to every Thanksgiving from now until the end of time.”

Louis smiles helplessly, at the image of a ninety year old Niall, bitching and rolling his eyes at Harry’s lack of love life, and stands up abruptly, because he wants a different future to start coming true, right now.

“Come on. Unless you actually think you need more coffee, at this point?”

Harry shakes his head, and grins nervously up at him, in a way that has Louis falling all over again.

“I’ve never been more awake, if I’m honest.”

…

Harry  _ is _ nervous.

He’s nervous in the elevator up to Louis' apartment, shuffling his feet and suddenly incapable of looking at Louis. Because all the easy energy of the tiny backstage room has disappeared, and now Harry is overthinking and worrying that this is somehow sordid and tawdry and not how he and Louis should start.

Louis leans on the wall, and motions him over.

“Hey. You are doing that thing again. Come here.”

Harry follows instructions, and then just keeps coming, until he is fully leaning into Louis, with head to toe body contact. Louis snorts after a moment, and runs a hand through Harry’s hair, as Harry leans and presses his face into Louis' neck and breathes in.

“What’s the matter?”

Harry shrugs, and then mumbles “I can’t fully believe this is happening. I don’t… I think I just really want to do everything perfectly, this time.”

Louis shushes him gently, and then raises his arms to wrap them loosely around Harry’s waist, squeezing slightly.

“You know that  _ you _ don’t need to be perfect, right?  I was just… hoping that  _ we _ could work better, together. That I could stop making your brain go into meltdown and you could stop running away.”

Harry smiles against Louis' neck, and then parts his lips, kissing slowly at his collar bone. Harry likes the way that he can feel Louis tense up in a certain way, underneath him, as the elevator slows in its climb.

They’ll save that conversation for another time, he thinks. Too many words already, not enough  _ doing. _

“You taste good” he murmurs, as the elevator doors slide open, and Harry removes himself reluctantly from Louis' body.

Louis laughs, slightly breathless, and then reaches for Harry’s hand, pulling him along the corridor.

“I taste like adrenaline and stage fright Harry, did you see me on stage?”

Harry nods, because yes, he does recall that, vaguely.

“Yeah. I like it.”

Louis pauses by his door, and then lowers his voice, possibly for dramatic effect.

“Just so you know, when we get through this door I’m going to do the pushing you up against a wall thing – you okay with that?”

Harry bites his lip, even as the background arousal he’s been feeling ever since he kissed Louis for the second first time tonight tunes itself several notches higher.

“Yeah… I’m okay with that.”

…

They waited far too long, is Louis' primary, overriding thought.

But then, it almost doesn’t matter, as Harry arches his body up into Louis' and moans lowly, into his ear. Because this is happening now, and it might be the best moment Louis has ever been in.

Harry grabs at Louis' butt, and tugs him forward until her thigh is pressed firmly between Harry’s legs, and Louis puts a hand either side of Harry’s head, to brace himself fully against the wall, just on the other side of his front door.

He rocks forward, once, twice, enjoying the way Harry hisses, and then drops his head against the wall with a soft thud.

Louis bites gently at the base of Harry’s neck, and then sucks, because he can, because this is Harry. It is only for half a second though, because he could be kissing Harry instead, and so does that instead, biting on his lower lip and sliding the point of his tongue over it.

Harry jerks forward in response, and Louis can feel how hard he is, how he just wants to grab Harry’s hand and push it between his legs, just for some friction and pressure where he needs it.

Instead he grabs at his top, and pulls it over his head, before grabbing at the buttons on  _ Harry’s _ shirt, and fumbling to pop them, because there has been too many barriers between them, and clothes are probably one of the easiest to remove.

Harry pulls Louis' face towards him, when Louis reaches the end of the buttons, and drops his hands to Harry’s hips, running his fingers over skin. And this kiss burns, and will never be enough, but that doesn’t matter because right now he doesn’t know if he can take anymore.

He pulls Harry away from the wall, and the new distance means that Harry is looking at him,  _ really  _ looking at him, with eyes that want. And then his gaze drops, and looks at Louis' newly exposed skin, and Louis didn’t know that just being looked at could be a turn on,  _ but there it is. _

“Fuck, Louis, you’re so… _ fuck.” _

_ Yes _ , Louis thinks, simply. So he takes Harry’s hand, and leads him to the bedroom.

Intends to lead him to the bedroom, but then gets pushed against the back of the couch, and then Harry presses himself into Louis' back, and there are hot, open mouthed kisses being pressed into the skin at his shoulders.

Louis drops his head, and has to hold on to the edge of the couch, because he’s about an inch away from just undressing himself entirely and letting Harry do whatever he wants to him.

“Harry… this needs to happen soon, or-“

Harry rests his forehead at the nape of Louis' neck, and traces gentle fingertips down Louis' skin, over shoulder blades and then down to her hips. Louis shivers under the touch, and Harry reaches up, kissing at the shell of his ear.

“Louis… this isn’t me running away, because I don’t think my legs would let me, right now, but can we not go all the way tonight? I want to… I have plans, for that. Can this be lots of stuff, but not all the stuff, tonight?”

Harry sounds completely out of breath, and it is  _ distracting _ , and Louis struggles to pull apart his meaning.

“Harry, I don’t… I don’t understand, are you saying that this needs to stop right now, because I’m not sure I can-“

Harry moans, and that’s enough to make Louis turn in his arms, and slide his hands up around the loose material of his shirt, pulling at it vaguely before losing himself in another kiss. Harry speaks into his mouth, after a moment.

“No, I meant… you know like the last time I was in your bed? Something along those lines.”

Louis slows, and then stills entirely, and at some point in the future he and Harry are going to have a conversation about what actually counts as sex, but that moment isn’t now, because the idea really  _ appeals  _ to him.

“I touch myself while you touch yourself?”

Harry manages to blush somehow, and then shrugs.

“Or whatever. It was just a thing that’s been stuck in my head on repeat for this past month, and-”

Louis cuts him off, pressing a firm kiss to his mouth as his hands reach for his own jean waistline.

“Okay. I think I might owe you a show, anyway…”

…

Harry is not prepared, doesn’t think any amount of preparation, could have helped him for the moment when Louis removed his jeans.

He continues to be thoroughly unprepared for how Louis leads him to the bedroom, and sits on the edge of the bed, and pulls Harry towards him, making him kneel between Louis' spread legs.

Louis is just  _ there _ , and so Harry puts his hand up to touch him, tracing and then rubbing a thumb tip over an erect nipple. Louis moans, and throws his head back, and so Harry licks a steady path, from his collar bone up to his earlobe, and sucks, once.

“Please don’t kill me, with this show, okay, because I’d very much like to be alive for the next bit too.”

Louis kisses once at his stomach, before moving upwards, and  _ with no warning whatsoever, _ attaches his lips of one of Harry’s nipples, while rubbing certain fingers over the other.

Harry has no control over the moan that comes out of his mouth, barely manages to restrain from climbing into Louis' lap and humping his torso, because jesus  _ fuck _ this is so hot and his briefs are ruined, completely.

Louis bites once, and then release, before looking up at Harry, with dark eyes.

“Okay?”

It’s too stupid a question for words, and Harry rolls his eyes, before urging Louis back up the bed, climbing on top of him.

…

It ends up being oddly missionary, and Stan would have a field day, a tiny, distracted part of his brain thinks.

They both keep their underwear on, Harry possibly because he thinks that is the difference between heavy petting and sex, and Louis because he knows that if he takes them off then nothing will be satisfactory until Harry’s mouth is on him.

And then, because the room is just a touch too cool for that level of nakedness, Harry reaches around, in the middle of their making out, and drapes the comforter over his shoulders, cocooning them.

Louis whispers, even as Harry’s thigh rocks forward into him, again.

“If you do that then you won’t be able to see anything  _ at all. _ ”

Harry shrugs, and moves downwards, twisting a wet tongue over a nipple that is so sensitive Louis almost doesn’t want the attention,  _ almost. _

“You didn’t really see anything of me, though, and you still seemed to find it pretty hot?”

Louis pulls his back upwards, and Harry braces himself on both elbows while kissing him, and  _ moving _ , slowly over him, and it is working for Louis. In fact, he’s so fucking hard he feels like he can’t speak.

“Why aren’t you touching yourself yet?”

Louis wraps one hand around Harry’s shoulders, and then moves his  _ other _ hand so that it is resting between them, just where his underwear meets skin.

“Tell me.”

Harry looks at him, for a moment, and Louis can see the question mark in his eyes. He clarifies.

“Tell me what to do, and I’ll do it.”

Harry closes his eyes, and breathes in deeply for a moment, before kissing Louis' neck, dragging his teeth over a mark that is sensitive, from before.

“Touch yourself, and then tell me how hard you are.”

…

The best bit might be the way that he can feel Louis' hand moving, the way the movement rubs against the front of Harry’s boxers, and so the temptation to not try and get himself off on Louis' knuckles is almost unbearable.

Or the best bit might be the way that Louis really isn’t shy, at explaining how turned on she is, or how much he is clenching around nothing.

Or the best bit might be the noises that Louis is making, from his mouth, and the other noises, that Harry can hear, from behind his briefs.

“Harry, I’m going to… I’ll come really quickly, if you keep looking at me like that.”

Harry whispers  _ fuck,  _ and then does jerk his own crotch against the back of Louis' hand, in a move that has Louis hissing before tipping his head back.

Harry rocks again, and again, before presses his lips to Louis' ear, whispering fevered nonsense under his breath.

“Do it Louis, keep going, I need to feel you come underneath me.”

Louis gasps, and then moans, and it only takes three more rocks before Louis tenses, and tenses again, and then Harry forgets to even try and look at Louis' face as he comes, because he’s too busy trying to  _ feel _ everything.

Everything that Louis wants to give.

…

Louis thinks it must take him a full minutes, to come back to his senses, but when he does Harry is lying on top of him, breathing like he’s the one who’s just come hard enough to see stars.

Louis realizes that there are tears in his eyes.

He regains the use of his arms, and wraps an arm around the back of Harry’s shoulders, fisting a hand in his hair, gentle.

“Please don’t run Harry, I swear to god…”

Harry shakes his head, once, and then presses upwards, kissing at Louis' mouth, softly.

“I couldn’t Louis. I won’t. I swear too….”

**Author's Note:**

> Thoughts? Feelings? Feedback?


End file.
